


Rewoven Tapestries

by Kaleidoskye



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Backstory, Canon Backstory, Headcanon, One Shot, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27416851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaleidoskye/pseuds/Kaleidoskye
Summary: "We've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That is who we really are." Petunia. Wormtail. Severus. Narcissa. Percy. Scorpius. Draco. Brief insights into some of the series most controversial characters. Sometimes hated, often misunderstood, but things are never quite as simple as they first appear. [Series of Oneshots]
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anything you recognise belongs to JK Rowling. Thank you for reading.

* * *

**The Letters From Dumbledore**

_"Remember my last, Petunia."_

* * *

The shriek echoed round the quiet and empty roads of Little Whinging, but it was still early. No one heard the high-pitched scream, nor the ensuing wails of a baby - who was quickly snatched from his position on the front door step - nor the sound of the door to Number Four Privet Drive being shut with a slam.

Petunia Dursley, breathing heavily, dumped the bundle of blankets down on the kitchen table and, with trembling fingers, snatched the letter that had been tucked into the baby's fist. Thankfully, he had stopped crying; curiosity seemed to have overpowered fear as his large green eyes roamed the kitchen.

Petunia opened the envelope, removed the parchment it contained, and read:

_Dear Mr and Mrs Dursley,_

_It is with my sincerest regret that I must inform you that Lily Potter (Née Evans) and her husband James were murdered at the hands of Lord Voldemort last night. Please accept my heartfelt sympathy and deepest condolences for your loss._

_As you will have undoubtedly noticed, their son Harry, your nephew, survives. Lord Voldemort vanished after trying to kill him, leaving our world a much lighter place for the time being. However, ridding the world of an evil wizard can hardly be of any consolation to Harry himself, at this tender age, and as you are his only living relatives, I have delivered him to you, in the hope that you will take him in and care for him as though he were your own._

_Harry, of course, will be able to start Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry when he turns eleven years of age. I hope that, in a few years' time, when he is old enough to understand, you will explain to him who his parents were and what happened to them, and inform him of the world they lived in and the school he will soon be attending. It may also be a good idea to prepare him for the fame and acclaim he will receive on attending Hogwarts, so that it is not too much of a shock to him when he arrives._

_If you have any further questions, do not hesitate to contact me!_

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

(Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry)

Petunia took a deep breath. So Lily was dead. Her perfect, know it all sister, her parents' favourite (although they never would have admitted it) had been killed. She wasn't quite sure how to feel about that. A little remorseful, perhaps, but a large part of her felt that it served her right, being caught up with all those… _wizards_.

As she thought of the distasteful word, she became aware of another piece of parchment in the envelope, and took that out as well. Her fingers, that had been shaking so much on finding Harry on her doorstep, were now surprisingly calm as they unfolded the piece of paper, which bore the same elegant, narrow writing as the first.

_Dear Petunia,_

_I address this letter solely to you, in the hope that, having spent time with your sister and having been informed of certain information regarding the magical world, you may understand a little more than your husband the danger that Harry may soon find himself in._

_The curse that killed your sister and brother-in-law was also directed at Harry, but backfired, vanquishing Lord Voldemort for now. It is, however, my firm belief that he will return, and when he does, Harry will be in very grave peril. Even now, he may be in danger from some of Voldemort's most devoted followers._

_However, while he is still a child, at least, there is hope for his continued safety. Your sister Lily died to save her son, which means that he is protected by an ancient branch of magic greater than anything even Voldemort can penetrate, a protection based on the bonds of love and of blood. I have placed a charm upon Harry, which ensures that, as long as he can call the place where his only blood relatives dwell a home, he will be safe from any evil that would otherwise seek to harm him._

_I will take this opportunity to inform you that this magic keeps your own family perfectly safe as well, and to assure you that you will not be putting yourself in increased danger by accepting Harry as a surrogate son._

_I am very much aware that you prefer not to be associated with the magical world, but I ask you to do this, if not for your sister or your nephew, then in the knowledge that you will not only be protecting Harry from harm, but also playing a part in the true and definitive end of Lord Voldemort himself, and protecting both our worlds from the devastation and darkness that he could bring to us all._

_Until our paths cross again, I wish you all the best,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Petunia sank down onto a chair in the kitchen. Vernon was still upstairs. She was not looking forward to explaining this to him. When she had told them about _them_ , informed him very hesitantly, with many stammers and stops and starts, that her sister and her husband were magical, he had looked shocked, turned grey, then white, then purple, then asked her if it was a joke. When he had finally realised she was serious, and told her in no uncertain terms that he wanted nothing to do with them, she had, of course, agreed with his every word.

Had she been disappointed at his reaction? Had she, very secretly, hoped that maybe Vernon would embrace the idea of his unusual relatives and that she could maybe "keep in touch with the magical world" as Dumbledore had once suggested. As Petunia looked apprehensively down at her nephew, she thought back to the first letter she had received from Albus Dumbledore. She had never told Vernon about it, but sometimes she took it out and looked at it, rereading the kind words. As Vernon was currently taking one of his long morning showers, she went through to the living room, into the dresser, into the very back of an old drawer that Vernon thought contained nothing more than Christmas ribbon and wrapping paper cut offs, and pulled out an envelope: thick, slightly ripped, and containing several letters. The first one she took out was written in the same narrow writing as the letters she had just read.

_Dear Petunia,_

_Thank you for your lovely letter. The pink floral paper you used was delightful and I was particularly intrigued by the violet scented ink! I must pay a visit to my local ink store to see if they stock it there!_

_I quite understand your desire to come to Hogwarts to study magic, but it is with deep regret that I must inform that we can only accept students who possess magical qualities. If this applied to you, your name would have been written down by our magic quill on the day you were born._

_If there was a way to bestow powers on non-magical children then I would, of course, turn my attention to this and consider your attendance to the school with the utmost devotion, but unfortunately, there is nothing I can do to make this a reality._

_I am very sorry about this, but please understand that it is for your own benefit as well that we do not accept non-magical students. I think you would find it most upsetting not to be able to take part in the practical lessons, such as Charms (making objects dance and fly) and Transfiguration (turning one object into another) and have to content yourself with the theoretical side of the wizarding world: learning about wizard history and goblin wars (which can be very dull), or studying the night sky through a telescope (which can give one quite a stiff neck!)._

_I do, however, encourage you to keep up with the magical world through your sister. Very few muggles (non-magical people) have the chance to learn about wizards through a close relative, as we tend to keep ourselves to ourselves, and I would encourage you to capitulate on this opportunity._

_Again, please accept my sincerest apologies for my obligatory refusal to admit you to the school._

_In the hope that we will one day correspond again,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Petunia had never told anyone how bitterly disappointed the letter had made her. After all, she had always pretended to hate her sister's freaky world. She had thrown away almost all the letters that Lily had ever sent her from Hogwarts, and there had been plenty. Lily had written many times, begging her not to be upset, imploring her to write back, pleading with her to be friends again, but Petunia had torn them up or else put them straight in the bin. The letter that Lily had sent after Petunia told her she wasn't welcome at her and Vernon's wedding, smudged with tears, saying that she was happy for her and that she hoped Petunia would change her mind, had even been thrown in the fire.

Yet there were some, just a couple, that she had kept, and why she hadn't been able to toss them carelessly in the bin like all the others, she wasn't quite sure, even now.

She dug deeper into the envelope that had held Dumbledore's first letter and found a small, square, thick piece of paper, with an attached photo of a young woman with bright red hair and a man with glasses. The piece of paper was a wedding invitation, to the union of James Potter and Lily Evans.

It was the third invitation Lily had sent her. Petunia had sent back the first two envelopes, unopened, but then curiosity had got the better of her. When she had seen what it was, when she had set eyes on the photo, although she never would have admitted it, she had felt her insides burn with sudden jealousy. Jealous because Lily looked so overwhelmingly happy. Jealous because James, with his arm around her, looked so protective, so caring and so... fun. She loved Vernon, of course she did, but she didn't think he would or could ever cause such a delighted and care-free expression as Lily's to appear on her own face.

Petunia hurriedly pushed the thought out of her mind and took up the next piece of paper, addressed just eight months later, enclosing a picture of a baby boy, and a small note from her sister, telling her that Harry James Potter had been born on July 31st.

She had told Vernon about that one, dismissing her nephew as a good for nothing runt, but she had received two letters since, which, although her husband knew absolutely nothing about, she had not been able to throw away.

She took out the first, which had been written in January.

_Dear Tuney,_

_Thanks for the vase you sent me for Christmas. It's very unusual. I hope you liked our gift to you! Don't worry, there's absolutely nothing magical about it!_

_I hope you had a good Christmas, ours was pretty manic. On the subject of which, I have something to ask you. Dumbledore thinks it might be a good idea to have a few people as undercover correspondents for the Order of the Phoenix (that's our secret society fighting Voldemort – you know, I mentioned him last time I saw you). A few of the Order's relatives are doing it already. You wouldn't be in any danger and you really wouldn't have to do much, just receive the odd Owl and forward it on to us via normal post. It's just so our headquarters aren't given away._

_I told Dumbledore you probably wouldn't want to do it, but he seemed to think you might like a chance to be involved. Let me know what you think!_

_Love,_

_Lily_

_Ps: I know you probably don't care, but in case you were in any way interested, Harry is now six months old and growing fast. How is Dudley? I really would like to meet him at some point. I wish we could put everything behind us and just be friends._

There had been no question of showing Vernon this letter, of course. What on earth would he have said? Imagine the idea of receiving letters from owls instead of a postman! As for meeting Dudley, it was completely absurd. They couldn't have their dear Diddykins interacting with people like that! She had not even replied.

Sometimes, she wished she had. She couldn't help it.

Now, there was only one last letter in the envelope, and it was very brief.

_Dear Tuney,_

_Just to let you know things have got pretty difficult here. James and I have to go into hiding. We're really hoping that things will get better soon but we can't be sure. I'm so sorry to leave you to cope with Mum and Dad when they aren't in good health, but I have written to them to tell them and I hope they will understand._

_I love you all._

_Lily_

Petunia looked at the date on the top of the paper and then down at Dumbledore's most recent letter. Just three months had passed since then, and Lily going into hiding had clearly not had the desired effect. She was startled to feel one single tear running down her cheek. It dropped onto Dumbledore's letter, right onto her sister's name, creating a large black blotch over the word Evans.

"Petunia?" a gruff voice interrupted her thoughts. She rubbed her eyes hastily, but no more tears had appeared in them anyway.

"Why is there a baby on our kitchen table?" her husband demanded.

She had completely forgotten Harry! She had not even heard Vernon come down the stairs. Shoving Dumbledore's and her sister's letters back in the envelope, and the envelope to the very back of the drawer, she straightened up and went back into the kitchen. Harry Potter was still not crying, but his eyes were wide open. Vernon was looking down at him with an expression of disgust on his face.

Wordlessly, she handed him the letter that had been addressed to them both.

As he read it, Vernon's face went bright red with incredulity. "Keep him?" he gasped hoarsely. "Raise him as our son? I don't think so!"

Petunia made a small noise of protest but Vernon's eyes were now bulging with indignation.

"No! Absolutely not! I won't have it!"

"We have to, Vernon!" Petunia said, feeling nervous as she took in his livid face but knowing that, for once, she would have to be firm, would have to stand up to him.

"Why?" Vernon's face was twisted unpleasantly in fury and disbelief, going magenta as he looked down at his nephew once more. "Why can't we just pack him off to an orphanage and be done with it. We'll just pretend that he doesn't exist, like we've been doing since he was born. No one will know!"

"We can't," Petunia struggled with a suitable reason, unwilling to tell her husband about Dumbledore's second letter. Dumbledore was right, she realised. As much as she hated the "freaky" world her sister had found her home in, she still understood a lot more than Vernon about the potential consequences of refusing to take Harry in, and it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to make her husband see them for himself.

"But the neighbours!" Vernon blustered, now breaking out into a sweat. "What on earth will they think? We're building up quite a decent reputation around here Petunia, just imagine-"

"I don't want him any more than you do," Petunia burst out at last, cutting over him. "But I heard _her_ talk about that world, about those _people_ , about the sort of things they can do. They work in different ways to normal people, Vernon! Who knows what might happen, or what they might do to us if we don't do as Du-" she broke off, amending herself hurriedly "as this - this _man_ asks?"

Vernon scanned the letter again nervously, now holding it at arm's length as if it might explode. As she saw his eyes dart suspiciously over the name at the bottom of the letter, Petunia knew she had won. If there was one thing her husband hated more than being associated with anything abnormal, it was the idea of something abnormal happening to him. His expression was no less ugly, but the redness in his face started ebbing away.

"Fine!" snapped Vernon, slamming the letter down on the table. Harry, who had been completely calm until then, gave a jolt at the brutal movement and started wailing.

"Shut up, you little runt," Vernon snarled. He addressed Petunia, his voice loud to try and drown out the sound of Harry Potter's cries.

"Fine! We'll take him in and we'll keep him alive. But he's not going to that school. He's not being told a word about this - this world. I doubt we'll ever make him a decent human being, but he is most definitely going to be a normal one! And he's going to be kept away from Dudley as much as possible. Don't want him rubbing off on our own son, now do we?"

Petunia shook her head, then nodded, pale-faced but relieved that the battle was won. Over the following years she did as Vernon insisted, not saying a word to her nephew about the magical world, refusing to answer any questions about his parents. She told Vernon that she had destroyed the letter from Dumbledore, when in actual fact it was placed in the envelope along with the others and kept secretly in the back of the drawer. Harry was raised in a cupboard, Dudley was given preferential treatment, and Petunia pushed all thoughts of the magical world out of her mind. Even when, despite all their best efforts, Harry found out about his parents and was sent off to Hogwarts, the longing to be part of the magical world never returned to her, nor did the jealousy, nor did the tears. Nevertheless, Petunia Dursley kept the envelope of letters for the rest of her life, very, very occasionally, when Vernon and Dudley weren't around, taking them out and rereading them, wondering idly what would have happened if she had reacted differently to any one of them.

*******

Many years later, when she died at the ripe old age of ninety-nine, when her darling Diddykins, now seventy-five years old, brought his only son and his ten-year-old granddaughter to help him clear out his mother's house, it was she who found those letters, still in good condition, at the back of a drawer in her great grandmother's bedroom. She did not ask her Grandad Dudley what they meant, but she took them home and kept them, hidden and secret, in her own bedroom, sometimes reading them curiously and trying to figure out a meaning. And when her own daughter, at eleven years of age, received a letter informing her that she had been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she was not altogether surprised. And when she heard through her daughter, during the Easter holidays of her third year, that in a few weeks' time a man called Harry Potter was going to come and give a speech to mark a hundred years of peaceful times since the downfall of Lord Voldemort, the full meaning of the letters that she had taken from her great grandmother's bedside table suddenly became much clearer. And when her daughter remained supremely unconcerned and wondered aloud if she'd be able to get out of this "long waffle about a dead guy," she felt a sudden, urgent need to give her the old letters, to show her why she should probably regard Harry Potter as more than "some old man who won a war a million years ago."

And so when Harry James Potter, one hundred and sixteen years after being left on his Aunt Petunia's doorstep, came to his old school to talk about the end of Lord Voldemort, he was nervously approached afterwards by a blond, round-faced Hufflepuff girl, who forced her way through the crowds of students ogling "The Chosen One", ignoring her teachers' protests, to tell him that she was a descendant of Dudley Dursley. The old man looked completely baffled, and half disbelieving, but consented to give her a few minutes of his time. She showed him the letters, and the photos, telling him where they had come from, and he, looking completely shocked, examined every one of them in minute detail.

Harry occasionally wrote to his cousin Dudley's great granddaughter in the years that followed, and when he finally passed away, he was, at his request, buried with the piece of parchment announcing the union of Lily and James Potter and its adjoining photo, and laid to rest next to his parents in the graveyard of Godric's Hollow. But he had told her to keep the other letters, told her just how important they really were, and why. And when two of her own children were accepted at Hogwarts but her youngest, to his bitter disappointment, was not, she gave him the letters that had been written to his great great great grandmother, begging him not to be angry or upset, imploring him not to isolate his family because of it, and reminding him that even the most non-magical of people can still have a role to play in the magical world.


	2. Wormtail's tale

* * *

**Wormtail's Tale**

_"I must admit, Peter, I have difficulty in understanding why an innocent man would want to spend twelve years as a rat."_

* * *

It was a slippery slope that sent Peter Pettigrew down into the filthy sewer on November 1st 1981, one that he had been in danger of falling down since the day he was sorted into Gryffindor, on the September 1st 1971, ten years and two months previously.

*******

Peter had been the most difficult sorting dilemma of his year. The hat had sat on the young boy's head for a full six and a half minutes, debating which house he should be placed in, and Peter had mulled over its words many times in the years that followed.

" _Fearful, yes, but that is not a sin, not if you have the courage to overcome it. And there is indeed a certain amount of courage. A degree of loyalty as well, despite the tendency to be fickle under pressure. Slow-minded, I don't think Ravenclaw is for you...but Gryffindor or Hufflepuff... perhaps even Slytherin. "_

Peter had been too nervous to feel insulted at the hat's blunt words, but had sat apprehensively on the stool as it pondered which house to place him in. He had not known much about the houses at all. His mother was a witch, but constantly busy with her work and quite distant from her husband and son, had not given Peter much information on the school she had once attended herself, other than that she had been in Ravenclaw and that, wherever he was placed, he would have a great time. He himself didn't really mind where he ended up, although he was hoping that it wouldn't be Slytherin. He had heard one of the boys in his compartment on the train talking derisively about the house.

" _Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"_ The boy had said to one of the others in their compartment. He had seemed so confident and sure of himself that his words had instantly filled Peter with a feeling that he did not want to be in Slytherin either.

Thankfully, the hat had seemed to agree with him fairly quickly on that subject, deciding that Peter did not possess the cunning mindset that was prevalent in Slytherin pupils. It had, however, proceeded to spend a further five minutes debating between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, eventually proclaiming that Peter was fond of taking the easy road, but that he had a brave streak in him that could be nurtured.

Peter was unlikely to ever forget the sorting hat's parting words.

_You will find it easy to lose your way, my boy, very easy. You do have the courage to stay on the right path, if only you can find it within yourself. And I think, on the whole, your best chance of that will be in GRYFFINDOR!_

Relieved that the ordeal was over, Peter had staggered off to the Gryffindor table, still pondering the hat's words. He had never really thought of himself as brave before. But the hat seemed to think that he could be, that he would be able to show more of that side of him. And in the buzzing, vibrant atmosphere of Hogwarts castle, Peter had felt a strong surge of determination in his chest. If the sorting hat thought it was possible, then why shouldn't it be?

He had tried. He really had. He had befriended Sirius, James and Remus, the other boys in his dormitory, recognizing their own bold and self-assured ways, and had tried to do everything like they did. He had spent as much time with them as possible, copying their every move in the hope that their courage would rub off on him. He had tried not to show the weaker side of himself, joining in their schemes, not even protesting when some of them were wild, dangerous and, quite frankly, scared the living daylights out of him. Like running around at the full moon in the forbidden forest with a _werewolf._ He was not prejudiced against Remus at all, but he could not deny that he was afraid of his bestial form. But, as the hat had said, being afraid was not a sin. He just needed to overcome it, and so he kept quiet about his worries, and by doing so gradually gained confidence in himself. And if he ever did betray fear, with a nervous squeak or an anxious remark, then James or Sirius would just turn to him impatiently and say, " _Don't be such a coward, Wormtail_ ," and he would pull himself together instantly, not wanting to seem weak in the eyes of his heroes.

*******

Peter never planned on going over to the dark side. In fact, in his last year of school, when their futures looked so bleak, the idea of Voldemort and Death Eaters made him feel faint with terror, and he figured that his best hope for survival was to stay as close to his friends as possible. Somehow, Sirius and James were so confident that it gave him hope too, even when the whole world seemed to be falling apart.

But everything changed after they left school. War dominated their lives from the day they stepped out of the castle's safe, protective walls. James and Lily were married within a year. Remus moved into Sirius's flat to save money and Peter, back home with his parents, felt... redundant. Useless. And quite lonely. And for every day he missed his friends' presence, a little more of the courage he had discovered during his years at school slipped away.

Even during their work for the Order, he felt very much like the weak link in the group. No doubt he always had been, but somehow it hadn't been so obvious until now. His friends all seemed to have a purpose, and he felt useless. Fear began to dominate his life, and every night he found himself wishing for a way out.

And then, one dark, dingy night when his parents were out for the evening and he was sitting alone in his childhood bedroom, they came for him, their presence announced by three soft taps on the front door - an oddly chilling sound – and Peter, upon hearing them, wanted nothing more than to shut his ears to the noise and cower under his bed covers until his parents returned home. But he told himself not to be a coward. He told himself that he would be brave, that he would do what his friends would do, and he ventured downstairs to open the door. It was ironic, really, how such a determined, bold action ultimately led to a cowardly, miserable existence.

Three tall, black figures stood at his doorstep. Hooded and masked, he knew who they were, even if he was unaware of their individual identities. They were Lord Voldemort's followers. Death Eaters. And, with a sinking feeling in his chest, he knew that the reason they were there was not going to lead him to any good.

"We have a proposition for you, Mr Pettigrew," one of them said silkily. The male voice that issued from behind the mask was soft, lethal. He did not recognize it, but it filled him with dread.

"The Dark Lord wishes that you enter into his service," another voice whispered. "And I'm sure you are aware that the Dark Lord's wishes are nigh on the law these days."

Peter felt the blood leaving his cheeks. The thought of even being near Voldemort filled him with dread. He had never come face to face with him personally, but Lily and James had a couple of times and even they, the boldest people he knew, had returned white and shaking from their most recent encounter, James looking nauseous and Lily in tears. The memory of their stricken faces was enough to make Peter shake with terror.

"Why?" was the only word he managed to force past his lips.

"He has a use for you, I believe," the first Death Eater continued. "He believes that you can be of assistance to him."

"But-" Peter protested feebly. "I- I can't."

Cold, surprised tones issued from behind the mask in the face of his hesitant objection. "You would not be so... imprudent... as to refuse?"

"But why?" Peter found himself stammering again. "Why me?"

" _Why me_!" A voice repeated. It was the first time the third figure had spoken, and so it was only then he realised that a woman was hidden behind the cloak and mask. She cackled, her voice harsher than her male counterparts, shriller, with an almost manic quality to it. She sounded jubilant as she answered his petrified question.

"Do you hear him?" she shrieked. "Why me? As if the Dark Lord handpicked him personally! My dear, ignorant child, it is not a question of why or who, it is merely a question of when and if. _When_ you join him, he will make use of you. If you do _not_ join him, you will be against him. And if you are against him, I can assure you that you are as good as dead."

"Shh Bella, we want this done quietly," one of the other men hissed at her, and the woman subsided, still laughing softly under her breath.

"You will come with us now," the second man breathed. "Unless you are to refuse, and I can assure you that would be most unwise."

"But- my parents," Peter protested. "They'll wonder where I am."

"You will be back before they return," the man said quietly. There was a quality to his tone that made Peter feel uneasy. Had they done something to his parents? His father was a Muggle-born and his mother was not the most gifted witch in the world. They also rarely went out at night, so this couldn't be a coincidence. Praying they were safe, and telling himself that he had no other option, he allowed himself to be taken by the three Death Eaters to a large house in the middle of nowhere, where he came face to face, for the first time, with the most evil wizard who had ever lived. More terrible than he could have even imagined him to be, Voldemort sneered at him coldly.

"What have my Death Eaters brought me this time?" he enquired. Every syllable he uttered was laced with malice and there wasn't even a shred of mercy in his terrifying red eyes as they raked over Peter's petrified face.

"Ah yes," he murmured. "Peter Pettigrew. Most useful. I commend you." He nodded to the three associates.

"Thank you, my Lord," the woman said, sounding quite breathless. She was looking hungrily at her master, leaning towards him as though all she desired was closeness to him. "If there is anything else-"

"That will be all Bellatrix," Voldemort said curtly. He turned to Peter.

"You see, Peter, I require a spy. For many months now I have wished for more information on Dumbledore's movements, on a certain society called the Order of the Phoenix. You are aware of this association I trust?"

"Aware," hissed Bellatrix, who, Peter had realised on hearing her name, must be Sirius's cousin. He had heard him talk about her several times, always with scorn and derision for his dark arts loving family, but he had never mentioned how terrifying she was, how deadly her voice sounded with every word it uttered. "He is one of them, my Lord. We've seen him with them. Duelled him, even. Not personally, of course," she sneered. "I would have managed to finish him off, myself."

Peter gave a nervous squeak.

Voldemort, however, disregarded Bellatrix, and continued talking to Peter. "There is nothing to be gained by refusing me, Pettigrew. The Order of the Phoenix is a valiant and noble attempt at defiance, of course, but they will soon be finished. We outnumber them ten to one. Their resistance is shattering by the day. Eventually, every one of them, even Dumbledore himself, will die!"

Peter knew that this was true. The Order lost a member pretty much every week, and he lived in constant fear that it would be him next. Voldemort's eyes glittered almost triumphantly as he continued.

"But if you become a spy, Peter, you will be under the only true protection that this world can offer at the moment. For it is only by following me that you can be safe."

"What do I have to do?" Peter stammered.

"Nothing, for now," Voldemort assured him, his mouth twisted in a malevolent smile. "You will watch for the snake, Pettigrew."

Peter did not know what he meant, but he was dismissed and managed, somehow, to find his way back to his house. He did not sleep for many hours. He heard his parents come back shortly after his own return to the house, which was in itself a relief, and gave him just a little more courage to sort out the turmoil in his mind. His last thought before finally drifting off was that he would be strong in the face of Voldemort's spreading dominion, and when he woke up he was of the same mind. Hadn't the sorting hat told him he had courageous and loyal qualities? Hadn't he befriended Sirius, Remus and James to try and be like them? He knew that none of them would have even considered going over to Voldemort, no matter how high the price to pay. And neither would he.

Two weeks later, however, his resolve was torn to shreds. Sitting, once again, alone in his bedroom, he was interrupted by a tiny black serpent that appeared from nowhere and twisted itself in mid-air before his eyes. As it dissolved into ashes, he heard the cold voice that had been plaguing his thoughts and dreams for two weeks issuing from them, telling him that he was required. Telling him where to go. And he had felt completely powerless to refuse.

After finding himself in Voldemort's terrifying presence for a second time, neither loyalty nor courage could prevail, and he told Voldemort everything he wanted to know. He answered every question truthfully, too afraid to do anything else, and in the months that followed he continued to sell out the Order, and Dumbledore, even his best friends. Sometimes he felt shame, sometimes he even told himself he wouldn't do it any more, that it wasn't worth it, but all it took was the black ash serpent, Voldemort's cold voice, the renewed wave of paralyzing fear, and he would find himself doing his new master's bidding once again.

*******

Peter only told Voldemort what he asked for, out of slow mindedness rather than any particular loyalty to his friends, but this was, perhaps, the one small blessing that could be taken from his betrayal. He did not tell Voldemort about Lily and James' son. He was not in Voldemort's trusted inner circle, and therefore did not even know that his master was looking for information on a boy born in July, and so saw no reason why Voldemort would be interested in hearing about the new member of the Potter family.

When Voldemort finally discovered that it was none other than Harry Potter who he should be hunting down, Peter was subjected to the cruciatus curse many times in punishment for his negligence, and afterwards was too preoccupied with avoiding a repeat of the excruciating punishment to worry about his best friends, who Voldemort would now hunt down and kill. Nevertheless, when it was suggested that James made him secret keeper rather than Sirius, Peter felt quite faint with dread. In spite of his cowardly behaviour and wavering loyalty, he still possessed affection for his friends and he did not want to be the one who betrayed them.

Peter managed to avoid Voldemort for nearly three months after the Fidelius charm was performed. He went into hiding and no one bothered him, for Voldemort had been given a false lead to the Potters, and his fruitless search led him in the wrong direction for a long while. But, of course, when he finally reached that dead end, he immediately turned back to Peter, discovering his hiding place with ease and making Peter quake with fear as the fury emanated from him, not as a mindless rage, but as a controlled, lethal coldness.

"So you know where they are," he said softly. "I have wasted my time on a false trail when the whole time this information has been within my grasp."

Peter had shaken his head wordlessly, even though he knew deep down that there was no point in denying it.

"Your loyalties are wavering, it seems, Pettigrew," Voldemort breathed. "Perhaps you have changed your mind? Perhaps you would rather go the same way as the Potters. It can be arranged most easily, you know."

"Not at all, my Lord," Peter squeaked, completely terrified.

"Then you will be able to tell me where they are?" Voldemort said, in his cruel tones. "And do not lie to me Pettigrew, I know that you are well informed of their location. You will tell me now, or you will never tell anyone anything again."

Peter hesitated, even then. They had trusted him, after all, above their other friends. How could he betray them so easily?

"I have been astonishingly lenient, Peter," Voldemort hissed. "I have shown you a sense of mercy that even my most devoted followers would not be shown, would not even believe possible of me. Most would be dead in a second if they refused me the information you have. But I have been merciful, and merciful I will remain, if you give me the information now. It is most valuable, this information, Peter. You will be doing me a great service by giving it to me."

Any last scraps of Peter's courage vanished, and he uttered the words that betrayed his friends - _Godric's Hollow_ – and Voldemort let out a triumphant cackle and left.

Peter stayed there, stunned, for a few minutes, and then pulled himself together. He would have to act fast now, to save his own skin, because he knew that Sirius would kill him the second he found out. And Sirius did indeed manage to corner him, just a few hours later, but Peter acted quickly, surprisingly so. Spending time in the company of Death Eaters proved useful to him in the end, for they had taught him evil and dangerous magic that his friends would not have ever attempted. Magic dark enough and strong enough to blast a street apart and kill a dozen people. Magic that people would never have thought possible of him, but that they might have expected of Sirius, with his dark heritage and Death Eater relatives. Peter himself then sliced off his finger and transformed, just as Ministry officials started appearing, disappearing down the drain on which he stood.

*******

And that was how he had ended up where he was now. In a sewer, shivering as his fur was drenched with filthy water, limping along on his bleeding front paw.

Peter journeyed for several days, through fields and woods, nibbling on anything that he could find to eat. But food was scarce, and he soon became tired, each day getting a little slower as he continued to run, in his disguise, as far away from the scene of his crime as possible. Finally, he found an abandoned gnome hole under a hedge, and lay low there for a couple of days. The hole was comfortable and warm, but food was even harder to come by here, and he gradually became so hungry that he had to venture out of his hiding place. He had barely taken two steps out from under the hedge when he felt a jolt to his stomach and realised that he was being lifted into the air, two chubby hands clamped firmly round his midriff. Peter let out an indignant squeak. He could not see who or indeed what had picked him up, but whatever it was let out a yell, deafening him.

"MUM!" The person holding him swung round, and Peter saw an odd looking house in front of him, several stories high and lopsided, as if it had fallen into place from a great height and no one had bothered to set it straight. A red-haired woman emerged from the front door at the sound of the yell.

"What is it, Percy dear?" she called.

"Mum, look!" Peter felt himself being jiggled around in the air and gave a few more squeaks of protest. "Look what I found!"

A clatter came from inside the house, and the woman turned. "Boys!" she yelled in exasperation, before calling over her shoulder.

"Come inside now Percy, love. It's getting cold!"

The chubby hands were still clenched tightly round his stomach as the little boy followed his mother into the house, and although Peter struggled he could not break free, so he relaxed and decided to hope that there would be food, and plenty of it.

The noise in the kitchen as they entered was almost deafening, the whole room submerged in chaos. Two red headed children were pointing toy wands at each other and shouting nonsensical spells, running in and out of the room as they dodged each one, not caring that they were knocking over everything in their path. At the table, two younger, identical children were throwing spoonfuls of food at the toddler in the high chair next to them, who was yelling indignantly, while a baby sat in another high chair and giggled in delight.

The mother was visibly harassed. "Bill, Charlie! Calm down. Fred and George STOP!"

"Can I keep him?" The boy holding Peter was pestering. "Please Mum! I'll look after him myself. Please!"

"Yes, yes of course dear." She smiled vaguely at him, far more distracted by her more unruly sons to worry about the boy with the rat.

Percy turned him round, and Peter found himself looking directly into a small, slim, freckled face, that was grinning from ear to ear. Then he plonked Peter down on the table, sat down and started feeding him bits of sausage from an abandoned plate of food, which Peter accepted gladly.

The woman had succeeded in calming the children at the table, who had stopped throwing food at each other, and the toddler had stopped crying.

"Mum, is You-Know-Who really gone?" The oldest of the red-haired children had looked up from his game with his brother.

"Yes, it would appear so, dear!" The woman said, still smiling cheerfully despite the stressed note to her voice, as she wiped the mess of food from the kitchen surfaces and walls. "Everyone thinks so, anyway."

"So, he's not going to come back?" Percy paused in his feeding of Peter to look anxiously up at his mother.

"I don't think so, Percy love, but no one knows for sure," she said gently.

"And Harry Potter killed him!" shouted the oldest boy, pointing his toy wand at his brother and resuming their game with shouts and banging noises. The other boy feigned falling on the floor with equally loud enthusiasm.

"Boys!" The woman remonstrated. "Calm down!"

"Gone! Gone! Gone!" one of the boys at the table repeated happily, and his twin immediately took up the chant, banging his spoon on the table.

Peter, still eating bits of sausage, digested the information. So his master was gone. Vanished. Dead, even. And Harry Potter had killed him? How was that possible? Harry was only a baby. He had seen him himself only a couple of weeks ago!

"How did Harry Potter do it Mum?" one of the boys asked. He sounded awestruck, and Peter pricked up his tiny rat ears, hoping for an answer to this question himself.

"No one knows," the woman, now that calm seemed to have been temporarily restored, sat down at the table next to Percy and gave her children a tired but warm smile. "Maybe we never will."

"But his Mum and Dad died, didn't they?" Percy sounded worried as he mulled over the question. Peter felt a little jolt in his stomach. So Lily and James really had been killed. He felt sad, but any proper grief he might have felt was overwhelmed by the other information he had just received. Voldemort was gone, and so he would not come looking for him. That was all that seemed to matter to Peter in that moment.

"Yes love," the woman said soberly. "It's very sad."

"Are _you_ going to die, Mum?" The blunt question fell from the boy's lips with urgency. It was clearly something that worried him greatly.

"One day, Percy. But hopefully not for a very long time." She got up and ruffled her son's hair before gathering up the plates, and the boy seemed reassured, turning back to Peter as he finished the last piece of sausage.

"He's got scabs on his front paw, Mum," he exclaimed suddenly. "One of his claws has come off and it's got scabs. Can I call him Scabbers, Mum? Can I?"

"Yes dear," she replied patiently. "Call him whatever you like!" Peter couldn't even be bothered to feel indignant at the name. He was too busy feeling relieved. Voldemort was gone, and the only other people who knew about his disguise were in no position to come looking for him. He was safe.

Unfortunately, the sorting hat was proved right. Peter Pettigrew found it very easy to lose his way, and fond as he was of an easy life, he never made the effort to find the right path again, and everyone who found out about his betrayal in later years wondered how he could possibly have been placed in Gryffindor in the first place. But even Peter Pettigrew had a streak of courage inside him, buried deep under the fear and panic, and he did wonder, until the very end of his life, sometimes with feelings of sincere regret, what might have happened if he had chosen the other road, and refused to tell Lord Voldemort everything, on that dark, fateful, autumn evening.


	3. Snape's grief

* * *

**Snape's Grief**

_"And what will you give me in return, Severus?"_

* * *

Severus Snape was not a pleasant man. He had always been twisted, bitter and generally unlikeable, although not entirely evil. He was certainly not the sort of person one generally empathised with or felt sorry for. And yet, no one who saw Severus Snape after learning of Lily Potter's death could have possibly felt anything but a deep pang of compassion for him, as he sat, broken, at his desk in his office, his eyes haunted and his face twisted and sunk under many layers of misery. The tears had ceased a while ago, but even two months after Dumbledore had sat him down and told him what Voldemort had done, the gnawing sense of overwhelming grief was showing no signs of fading. It plagued him from the minute he woke up to the second he fell asleep, and more often than not, the thought of her crept into his dreams as well.

He had borrowed Dumbledore's pensieve. Why, he had not said, although he suspected the old wizard was perfectly aware of his reasons. He was far too clever for his own good. Still, he had not objected, and Snape had taken the basin down to his office, where he was now sitting, staring at it blankly, unsure if what he was about to do was wise. He wanted to see her again, desperately, but would it be too torturous to see her in memory, knowing that he would never again lay eyes on her in the flesh?

He hesitated for a long while, but eventually the desire to see her, somehow, won over, and he pulled out several strands of memory from his temple and threw them into the basin, before plunging after them into its swirling depths. The memories of Lily _Evans_ merged quickly into one another: the day he had first laid eyes on her, the day he had first plucked up the courage to talk to her, the many hours they had spent playing together as children, the long tales he had told her of Hogwarts and the magical world, the times they had spent laughing at her annoying elder sister. Then there was their train ride to Hogwarts. After moving away from their first compartment, away from Black and Potter, he and Lily had found one to themselves. Lily had insisted on buying sweets from the food trolley and sharing them with him, even though he had no money and nothing to give her in return. Even now, in his grief, reliving their time spent in that compartment, chatting and laughing, gave him the tiniest flickers of warmth in his chest. But the happiness was drenched almost instantly by the memory that came next.

*******

His eleven-year-old self was walking along a corridor next to her, talking fast. She was listening patiently, with no hint of exasperation, even though he knew it wasn't the first time he had beleaguered her this particular speech.

"... still don't see why you couldn't have asked the hat to put you in Slytherin." he was saying reproachfully, as they slowed outside their Charms classroom. They were the first ones there, so he continued to speak in normal tones. "I was really hoping we'd be in the same house!"

"It said I would do well in Gryffindor," Lily shrugged, looking straight back into his eyes. He remembered the pleasurable jolt he had felt every time that green gaze had pierced him. "And Sev, be realistic. I'm a Muggle-born! I've only been here two days and I've learnt enough to know that Muggle-borns and Slytherin don't mix! Anyway," she went on, looking sceptical, "you can't just choose where you go, can you? If it was that easy _you_ could have just asked to be put in Gryffindor? I was already there by the time you were sorted!"

Watching his eleven-year-old self squirm uncomfortably, Snape felt a little sick as he remembered doing the exact opposite, recalled his complete and utter obstinacy, his refusal to be placed in any other house but Slytherin, so sure that that was the path he was destined to take. Even now, ten years on, he could hear the sorting hat's words as if they had been spoken yesterday.

" _You have courage, young man, a great deal of it. Courage that Gryffindor house would nurture well! Courage that was the making of Godric himself!"_

But his mind had been set. He had wanted to be in Slytherin, like his mother. Like his grandfather. Like the Nott family, who lived just a few streets along from him and who had always told him tales of the greatness that Slytherin pupils could achieve. After all, Merlin himself had been a Slytherin! And he was going to be too. No old, ragged, patched hat was going to tell him otherwise. "I'm not going to Gryffindor," he had thought stubbornly, and the voice had sighed.

" _Very well, if you are quite sure, better be SLYTHERIN_."

And Snape had tripped off to join the Slytherin table, feeling torn between sadness that he and Lily were not to be in the same house and irritation that she had not been placed in Slytherin. At the time, being placed in Gryffindor himself had not even seemed like an option. Now, ten years later, Snape wondered. Would it have made a difference? Where would he be today, if he had been just a little less obstinate, and allowed the hat to go with its first instinct?

He would have been in the same house as Lily, like he had so badly wanted. But then he would have been with Black, the traitor, the very reason Lily was now dead, with the werewolf, who was admittedly less arrogant but just as untrustworthy, and with that snivelling coward Pettigrew. How _he_ had been placed in Gryffindor he would never know! And worst of all, he would have been with Potter.

His insides churned with rage as he thought of Potter. This was all his fault. If he hadn't been so cocksure and full of himself. If he had never taken Lily in the first place. If he had never married her. If he had never passed on his arrogant genes to another human being.

Why, it was his fault he had lost Lily as a friend! It was Potter, in their fifth year, who had bullied him and humiliated him, making Lily, in her kindness, jump in to defend him, and forcing him, in his humiliation, to spit the unforgivable word at her. The word that had lost her forever. _Mudblood_.

Everything, all of it, was Potter's fault.

Except... That wasn't strictly true. It took him a long time to acknowledge it, for he wasn't always honest with himself, and he took such savage pleasure in blaming his arch enemy for everything. But, as the memories streamed on, through their years at Hogwarts, through their increasingly strained friendship, through the terrible scene with Potter by the lake, and his ensuing argument with Lily, he knew what was coming next. He knew that he was about to witness the time that he really had pushed her away for good. The time that, whichever way he tried to twist it, there was no way even Potter could be blamed.

*******

Sure enough, he was watching his seventeen-year-old self as he followed her out of the library one evening. She was walking briskly, and he was many paces behind her, but there was no one else to be seen, and so he called after her.

"Lily!"

She turned. Her expression hardened a little as she saw who it was, but she stopped and waited for him to catch up all the same. He was panting as he reached her. She did not speak, merely looked at him questioningly.

"Please talk to me," he said quietly. "Please."

Lily sighed, her expression still cold. Her arms seemed to tighten around the books she was carrying in her arms. "What do you want me to say, Severus?" she enquired, a hint of exasperation now present in her voice.

Snape saw his teenage self looking uncomfortable. He had known what he wanted to say, had spent a long time rehearsing it in his head, but when faced with her, it had not come out like he had planned at all. He had been flustered and his words had been stilted and all he had been able to manage was, "Look, I'm sorry! Can't we just forget it?"

Lily merely raised an eyebrow. He did not blame her for her lack of reaction to his feeble words.

"I- I miss you," Snape heard himself admitting, noticing how his pale cheeks flushed with colour as he said the sentimental words.

Lily's face softened just a little as she looked back at him, but her mouth was still firmly set.

"I told you," she said quietly. "I keep telling you. We're going in opposite directions, Severus. We've chosen different paths."

Her eyes were kind despite her words, inviting confidences, permitting him to say what was really on his mind.

"But I just wish..." he trailed off. What did he wish exactly? Well, in reality, he wished that she loved him the way he loved her. But that wasn't perhaps the best thing to say to someone who had been deliberately avoiding him for the past year.

"I wish we could still be friends," he settled on at last. "I really do. I'd do almost _anything_ to be your friend again," he added, looking pleadingly into her bright eyes.

" _Almost_ anything? Or anything at all?" Lily's voice sounded even icier now, and her gentle expression had vanished. "You know what it's going to take Severus. You know perfectly well my condition on being your friend."

"What?" Snape protested a little feebly, because of course he knew. She had made her views on his friendships with some of the other Slytherins perfectly plain.

"If you want to be my friend, you can't be friends with them," Lily stated firmly. "With Avery, and Mulciber and Goyle and all those other awful people you call your _mates_. It might sound childish, me saying that, and I know they're in your house and you have to be civil to them, but if you insist on hanging around with them all the time, and doing everything they do, and joining in their sick little games, then I refuse to have _anything_ to do with you!"

Snape saw his younger self looking back at her, stricken and torn, as she, her voice flat, gave him one final chance, an ultimatum.

"I'm not prepared to associate myself with Death Eaters or anyone who is planning on being one, Severus. I made my decision a long time ago. It's time you made yours."

With that she swept off down the corridor. Snape stood watching after her, his face forlorn.

*******

That had been her last ever proper conversation with him. And now, just a few years on, as the memories of Lily came to a close and he rose up from the pensieve, Severus remembered how he had desperately wanted to do as she asked. How he had come so close. Once or twice he had left his common room with the purpose of going to find her, to tell her that of course he wouldn't become a Death Eater, that he would stop associating himself with everyone in his house if it meant she would talk to him again.

But it hadn't been quite that simple. The Slytherins were so cruel. And somehow or other he had always ended up running into one of them before he found Lily herself, and each time his resolve had faded instantly. And as the months wore on he had begun to enjoy adopting a more powerful and leading role in his little gang, becoming steadily more involved in their antics, in their cruel and manipulating magic that they performed on others without a second thought. And so _his_ final decision had been made slowly but surely, and he could not bring himself to do the one thing that would bring Lily back to him.

A couple of times, when he was sitting at the breakfast table with the Slytherins he had caught her eye, seen her expression of disgust as she looked away, but even that hadn't given him the strength to change his path. He had been far too stubborn to go back on the promise he had made to himself at ten years of age, that he would be a Slytherin and a great one, whatever the cost.

And then, in their final year, of course, everything had changed anyway. Potter, who Lily had always thought of as an arrogant toerag, had finally won her round. When he had seen them walking in Hogsmeade together on their first date, his insides had burned with hatred and envy. And in the months that followed he had swung back and forth between petty rage, wondering why he had ever bothered with her, to misery, praying desperately that she would get tired of Potter and, somehow, give him a final chance. But it wasn't to be, and she and Potter had stayed together all that year and had looked set to stay together for the foreseeable future. And in fury Snape had thrown himself into Voldemort's inner circle, trying not to care, trying to hate everyone who was on Potter's side on sheer principle. But he had never been able to hate Lily. Not when the Dark Lord and the other Death Eaters had held long discussions on the "Filth of Mudbloods", nor even when he had heard about her marrying Potter. He had continued to think of her longingly, continued to wonder who he would be if he had been sorted into Gryffindor, what might have happened if he had never called her a mudblood, where he would have ended up if, when presented with her ultimatum, he had chosen to take the other road.

As Severus stared down into the pensieve, where every thought he had of Lily was swirling together as one, another memory materialized, unbidden, in the forefront of his mind. He struggled to block it out, for he did not want to even think about it. He certainly had no desire to put it in the pensieve and examine it as he had done with the others. But he couldn't help but remember it, and against his will, his office started to fade, as he became lost in one final recollection, the worst one of all.

*******

He was standing next to the Dark Lord himself, whose pale, distorted face looked gleeful, almost manically so. Voldemort was holding a piece of parchment between white forefinger and thumb as he looked round at Snape and the only two other Death Eaters in the room.

"You have done well, Rookwood," he cackled softly. "You have brought me what I craved. You have succeeded where so many others had failed. You shall be rewarded, of course, as shall you, Severus, when my task is done. For it is thanks to you that I can now destroy my one threat, the only obstacle that may have otherwise prevented my complete and eternal dominion."

Many months had passed since Snape had relayed what he had heard of Trelawney's prophecy to his master, and Voldemort had instantly become obsessed with discovering the identity of this mysterious child who would apparently have the power to defeat him. With only two small pieces of information to go on, he had struggled, much to his fury. He had pondered the words _thrice defied him_ for a long while. But he had made a great number of enemies over the years, and working out who had stood up to him and when was almost impossible. So he turned his attention to the only other defining information available to him. A child born at the end of July. Finding that information had proved far more difficult than originally suspected, because it could only come from the register of magical births at the Ministry. Even with the help of a few of his most trusted followers, and his Ministry spies, his first attempts to gain a copy of the birth register had failed. Avery had, to Voldemort's great displeasure, informed him that extra security had been placed over it. No doubt Dumbledore was behind that! He had grown increasingly angry, and even Snape had started to become a little fearful of his master. But finally Rookwood, who was held in very high esteem at the ministry, had managed to present a convincing cover story to Ministry officials and procure the valuable information.

Voldemort held it out in front of him, revering the faded parchment. "Let me see," he murmured softly, looking down at the names and dates. Snape, Avery and Rookwood watched with bated breath, wondering if their master would finally gain an answer to the question that had plagued him for many months.

"Seven magical births, in the last week of July 1980," he said. "Twin girls, July 26th. Muggle-borns. Died two months later. Good riddance. And two other girls. July 27th and July 29th. But you are sure the prophecy referred to a boy, Severus?"

"Yes, my lord," Severus said softly. That was the only other fact he had managed to gain before being thrown out of The Hogs Head, but Voldemort seemed to think he had the most crucial pieces of information, and had been surprisingly merciful over his failure to hear the full extent of the prophecy.

"Benjamin Jack Baker. 28th July. Muggle-born. Highly unlikely to be him, I cannot imagine how his mudblood parents could have defied me even once, much less three times, but we shall deal with him just in case." His speech was hurried, he was talking more to himself than to anyone else as his eyes darted further down the list, trying to find a likely candidate.

"Neville Frank Longbottom. 30th July. Pureblood. Longbottom...Longbottom." His voice sounded quite deadly as he mused over the name.

"They are the Aurors, my lord," Avery whispered softly, no doubt hoping to gain Voldemort's praise as Snape and Rookwood had done, and make up for his failure to gain the information in the first place. "Frank and Alice Longbottom are Aurors, you would surely have dealt with them before."

"Many a time, Avery," Voldemort sneered coldly, unimpressed with his input. "They escaped from my clutches not long ago, in fact. Pure luck of course, they would not be able to beat me on skill alone. Yes, it is possible that the prophecy refers to their son. Possible indeed."

His red eyes flicked back onto the parchment and his mouth twisted as he murmured one, final name.

"Potter," he said. "Harry James Potter. July 31st. Half-blood."

Severus felt his entire body stiffen, a sudden ice in his heart as he heard the familiar name.

"He was Hogwarts with us," Avery growled, still hoping to be of some use to his master. "James Potter. Married that Evans girl."

"Lily," the word left Snape's mouth almost involuntarily as he thought of her. Dear Lily, with her kind smile, her caring green eyes, her vibrant, bouncing, red curls-

"Of course," Voldmort was saying silkily, his voice even deadlier now. "Potter, and his mudblood, ginger, rat of a wife. I should have thought of them long before now, for they are always slipping out of tight spots. I have nearly killed them personally several times. And I would have done too, if Dumbledore hadn't been there to meddle."

There was grim satisfaction on his otherwise emotionless features.

"I did not even know they had a son. I have a spy close to them who should have informed me of this long ago, the useless piece of vermin. He shall be punished. But no matter, no matter. No harm done in the end."

He spent several long minutes rereading the parchment thoroughly.

"Very well," he breathed at last, looking up from the paper at his three servants. "Now, at long last, we can act. Avery, you can deal with the disposal of the mudblood child, I trust. He can be traced through muggle directories so I should not think you will find that too taxing. And Rookwood, you can return this to the ministry as soon as possible. I do not wish to be found out."

Voldemort watched as the other two men left the room. "Harry Potter," he murmured slowly, turning to face Snape. "At last, I can be rid of this worry. For it has been a great worry, Severus. How a mere child can defeat me I do not know, but he will now not get a chance. His parents must be disposed of too, of course."

"My Lord," Snape felt a renewed flood of fear deep in his chest. "Are you sure, my Lord, that it might not be another of these births. The Longbottoms for instance. They are Aurors, after all..."

Voldemort said nothing at all. His red eyes gleamed strangely. "The Potters first," he whispered. "It must be so." Snape never knew his reasoning for choosing Potter over Longbottom, but the final pronouncement was like a knife in his gut.

"The boy, of course." Snape knew that the panic was evident in his voice now, knew that Voldemort would pick up on it within seconds, but he couldn't help it. "But the parents. The mother. Is it strictly necessary to kill her too?"

"Why Severus," Voldemort gave a short, humourless, high-pitched laugh. "Do not tell me you care what happens to the filth that produced this child. Do not tell me you are displaying _affection_ for someone of such bad upbringing, such dirty blood."

"No, my Lord," he denied at once, but he still couldn't let the matter rest. The thought of Lily dying at his master's hand, because of information that he himself had relayed to him, was too unbearable. He had to stop him from killing her. He must. His mind worked frantically to think of a way.

"But, she- she is not unattractive, my lord." Snape hated himself for saying the words, despised himself for suggesting that his feelings for Lily were nothing more than skin deep, but he knew it was the only slight chance there was of Voldemort showing mercy. "Perhaps, if you were to spare her..."

"Perhaps?" Voldemort repeated quietly and harshly. "Perhaps you would gain her instead, is that what you are suggesting?" I cruel smile played on his lips and Snape bowed his head a little, but looked up in surprise at Voldemort's next words. "Well, she could be seen as desirable, _perhaps_. Indeed, _perhaps_ I would feel the same, if I were a mere mortal capable of such pathetic sentiment." He paused for several long moments, during which Snape was convinced his heart was going to stop beating all together.

"Very well, Severus, I shall consider it," he hissed at last. "I said I would reward you, after all. But I would nevertheless encourage you to focus your attentions on someone of purer blood. After all, that is the only way forward."

"Yes my Lord."

Snape remembered the fear that had overwhelmed him as Voldemort left him alone. It had been beyond any feeling he had experienced in his life. The terror that Voldermort would kill Lily in spite of his promise to consider sparing her, the panic that had led him to Dumbledore, the utter despair as he begged his old headmaster to keep her safe, promising to do _anything_ in return. But it had all been too late. And now Lily was gone.

As the awful memory came to an end, he put his wand to his temple, and with a moan of anguish, he wrenched it out of his mind and dropped it in the basin. As he watched it swirl into its depths, the heart-wrenching pain eased just a little. He could not erase the memory from his mind completely, of course, but he had removed the core essence of it, and so the overwhelming sense of guilt and responsibility for what had happened was considerably lessened.

How long he sat there, staring blankly at his desk, he did not know, but eventually he started gathering up the memories, removing them from the pensieve, returning all but three of them to their original place. He picked up the three that remained several times, but he could not bring himself to reinsert them back into his mind. He could not bear to feel that oppressing weight of guilt in his chest again.

He had, as a young student, once heard Dumbledore say that the consequences of one's decisions were so complex that it was impossible for a single person to claim responsibility and blame for a tragic occurrence. But the thought brought him no comfort as he stood there, gazing down at the glistening silver reminders of his three most defining choices. Gryffindor or Slytherin. Slytherin or Lily. Lily (even if he hadn't known at the time that the prophecy referred to her son) or Voldemort. The three wrong turns that had, ultimately, lead to her death.

He would not be able to live with these memories in his mind, he knew that. And so he took up a glass bottle, placed the memories inside, and put the bottle up on one of the shelves that surrounded his desk, determined never to open it again.

*******

Free of much of the guilt that those three memories brought on, Severus Snape found it very easy to hate Harry James Potter when he finally arrived at Hogwarts a further ten years later, especially as the boy looked so much like his dratted father. But he kept his word to Dumbledore nonetheless. He helped to protect the boy, keeping a watchful eye on him, trying to save him from the many dangers that he walked mindlessly into throughout his years at school. And if the sight of the son of his former enemy ever made him want to go back on his word, all it took was one glance at the bottle on his shelf, a symbol of his three most fatal decisions, to remind him that James Potter was no longer the enemy. There was only one enemy now.

 _Almost anything_ , he had said to Lily. But almost anything had not been enough to win her back.

 _Anything_ , he had promised Dumbledore. Even that had not been enough to save her, but would it be enough to avenge her? He did not know, but he knew one thing. He would help protect even James Potter's son if meant bringing down Lily's murderer, and if _anything_ meant that he himself died in the attempt, so be it.


	4. The Story of the Three Sisters

* * *

**The Story of the Three Sisters**

_"Cissy - your own sister? you wouldn't!"_

* * *

The heat of the late afternoon sun beamed down through the thick leaves of the tree, illuminating the faces of the three girls who were hidden deep within its boughs, giggling together at nothing in particular. The tree was their secret place, where no one ever found them, and that alone was enough to put them in good spirits.

Finally, one of them lifted her head to look beyond the branches, blinking against the bright light, and sighed.

"The sun's going down. It'll be dinner soon."

She sprang down from the tree without a second thought, laughing in an almost manic fashion as she slowed and landed gracefully on the ground, her black curls bouncing round her face.

The second girl went a little more cautiously, edging along the branch to a gap in the leaves before jumping, but with equal determination and confidence as she landed on the grass beside her sister.

Both girls turned back to look up at their youngest sibling, who was still clinging to the rough bark of the trunk, gazing nervously at the earth beneath her.

"Hurry up, Cissy!"

"Come on, you can do it, it's easy!"

The first voice was impatient, the second encouraging.

The little blond girl edged cautiously along the branch, trying to block out the moaning of one sister and concentrate on the encouraging words of the other.

"That's it, just go a little bit further!"

"Just let go, you'll be fine!"

She obeyed both commands, taking one more step sideways before springing from the tree. She landed nowhere near as gracefully as her two sisters had, sprawling with a thump on the fresh grass of the meadow, but she did not hurt herself. She had not expected to. Children of such _pure_ blood could not be harmed by mere trips and falls, or so her father often liked to impress upon her.

A hand reached out to pull her to her feet.

"See, I told you you could do it." The owner of the hand smiled down at her, but the other girl was still impatient.

"You took your time! Come _on_ , we need to get home!"

"Just give her a minute, Bella." The command was firm and, impatient as Bella was, she waited for the youngest child to brush the grass off her knees and get the worst of the stains out of her dress. When satisfied that she was ready, she led the way as they raced back towards their house, careful, nonetheless, to slow her pace if the other two started to fall behind. They were sisters, after all, inseparable. They always waited for each other.

*

"You're late!" Their mother looked at them disapprovingly as they burst through the kitchen door, panting.

"Sorry mother!" Bellatrix spoke in a voice of forced contriteness. "We were just walking in the woods and lost track of time." She was always the most likely to mollify their mother if she was annoyed, and sure enough, the woman pursed her lips but made no more mention of the time.

"Did you see anyone?" she asked her second oldest child. They were asked the same question every time they got home, and a flash of annoyance seemed to cross Andromeda's face before she replied. "Only the farmer's boy from the next village. Mr Tonks's son."

Their mother looked down her nose and sniffed. "And did you speak to him?" Her tone made it quite clear that there was only one acceptable answer to the question.

"No mother. Of course not." The barefaced lie fell from Andromeda's lips with practiced ease and Bella glanced sideways at her. But she did not give her away.

Their mother, looking satisfied, turned to the youngest. "Your dress is dirty," she said coldly. "And you have a grass stain on your knee."

"Sorry mother," Narcissa said quietly. Her response was greeted with an irritable sigh as her mother pulled her closer for further inspection. "And you have twigs in your hair!" she exclaimed, running a rough hand through her daughter's blond, flowing curls before pushing her back a step and giving her a severe stare. "I hope you have not been climbing trees, like some filthy, common, muggle child?"

"N-no mother." She was not as good at lying as her sisters were and Druella Black narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

"She tripped and fell when we were running in the forest," Andromeda said at once. Their mother seemed satisfied with the explanation, although not entirely happy.

"You should be more careful," she informed her daughter. "Now go and change for dinner, please. We have important guests coming, as you know."

The three ran upstairs to get changed. None of them bothered to exchange gratitude for not giving them away, for it was taken for granted that they sprang to each other's defence, ensuring that their various misdeeds would not be relayed to their parents.

They were allies, united. They always stuck up for each other.

*

The three girls entered the dining room together. Their dresses were clean and beautifully pressed, their hair in identical braids of jet black, soft brown and white blond, their eyes wide with innocence as they took in the guests: a tall, imposing figure in immaculate grey robes and a boy about the same age as them, with sleek blond hair and grey eyes.

"Ah girls, good!" Mr Black's tone of voice made it very clear how important their guests were. "Abraxus, these are my daughters, Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa. Girls, please say hello to Mr Malfoy, and his son Lucius." They did as instructed, but a frisson passed between the three sisters as their guest looked at them, his pale eyes boring into each of them with a detached coldness. Bellatrix gazed back at him, unperturbed. Andromeda forced a polite smile. Narcissa was unable to meet his gaze and dropped her eyes to the floor.

"Very beautiful girls, I must say Cygnus," their visitor said.

"Thank you, Abraxus." Their father looked at them with a smile, but his eyes were distant, and there was little pride in his gaze. "Now, let's eat."

Dinner was a silent affair for the four children. Lucius seemed as uncomfortable as they were, and only spoke when prompted by his father, while the adults discussed high up matters concerning people they did not know or care about, and it was with great relief that Bellatrix, Andromeda and Narcissa escaped back upstairs several hours later.

"I hate it when we have important dinner guests," Andromeda moaned, stretching out on her bed. "It's so boring. And we're never allowed to talk about anything!"

"Lucius didn't say much," Narcissa mused. "And when he did, he sounded really stuck up! I didn't like him at all!"

Bellatrix gave a humourless laugh. "You might have to like him Cissy," she said. Andromeda raised her eyebrows and Narcissa's pale eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

Bellatrix sat up straighter and addressed them both. "You do know why we have to meet these people, don't you? All these important guests who come with their sons and daughters?"

"I thought they were just high up people from the Ministry." Narcissa looked confused and Bellatrix shook her head in a condescending sort of way and lowered her voice.

"It's for us," she whispered. "So we mix with the right people when we go off to school. Make the right friends. And so that when we grow up we will marry into good families. _Pureblood_ families. Our parents have already started planning our future." She was puffed up with importance, the image of the older, more knowledgeable sister in the face of the other two's bewilderment.

"How do you know?" Narcissa's eyes were now wide with dismay and Andromeda looked equally displeased. Bellatrix shrugged. "Just do," she said. "You'll see what I mean when you're a bit older. You pick up on the stuff they talk about."

Andromeda scowled at her patronizing tone. "I'm nearly as old as you are," she reminded her. "Just because you're going to Hogwarts in September, it doesn't mean you know everything!"

"So that's why they were here? They want you to make friends with Lucius at school?" Narcissa persisted.

"Oh, he won't be going to Hogwarts just yet," Bellatrix said airily. "He's more your age Cissy, so you'll be the one who has to befriend him. Maybe even marry him," she added, giving her a knowing look. Narcissa blanched and Bellatrix looked amused at her reaction.

"You suit each other," she added teasingly. "You even look the same."

"Bella, stop it!" Andromeda chided her angrily, for Narcissa now had tears in her eyes. She hurriedly shifted along the bed and put an arm around the younger girl as she began to cry.

"It's nothing to worry about Cissy," she said in a soothing voice. "You're not going to Hogwarts for ages anyway!"

"But I don't want them to choose who I make friends with!" Narcissa sniffed. "Lucius was awful! They're always awful, the children who come round!"

Bellatrix sighed a little impatiently, but she too came to give Narcissa a hug.

"Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," she said, her voice gentler now. "And don't worry. I'm sure some of the children at school will be nicer! There are hundreds of students at Hogwarts. We've only met a few, remember. They might be more friendly when they're not with their parents anyway. I bet we are!"

Narcissa wiped her tears away on her sleeve. Still concerned by what she had just learnt, but calmed by her sisters' reassurance, she managed a watery smile. Soon they were chatting and laughing again, and Andromeda and Bellatrix looked heartily relieved that her unhappiness had been so short-lived.

They were friends, first and foremost. They always comforted each other.

*******

Thirty-five years later, Narcissa Malfoy stared over the fields that stretched beyond Malfoy Manor to the hills that eclipsed the town where she had grown up, and sighed. So close to her childhood home, yet so far removed from her former life, from those three little girls who had run through woods and fields without a care in the world.

Where were those three girls now? Inseparable, united, friends. How had it gone so wrong?

Everything had changed that autumn when Bellatrix had started Hogwarts. They had greatly missed her company throughout that first term, and had eagerly crossed off the numbers on their calendar, counting down the days until the three of them could be together once more. But the Bellatrix who returned to them that Christmas was not the girl they remembered.

"Are you coming out to play in the snow, Bella?" Andromeda and Narcissa said, knocking excitedly on her door on the first morning of the holidays.

"I'm busy," came Bellatrix's haughty reply. "I don't have time for childish games anymore."

Andromeda and Narcissa exchanged shocked looks, before traipsing outside themselves. They tried again the next day, and the next, but every time it was the same response, and so the pattern continued and they would go outside while their sister stayed shut up in her room, reading books, writing letters to her new, important school friends, overcome by a secretive nature that they had never noticed in her before. On the rare occasions she did deign to join them, her domineering attitude caused friction between them, and when she returned to school in the new year, Narcissa and Andromeda could only feel relieved that she was gone. When the Easter holidays came round, they barely saw her at all, and she spent most of the summer meeting up with friends from Hogwarts, uninterested in what her two sisters had to offer in terms of company. And so the three girls, sisters though they were, were never inseparable again.

*

Then, when Andromeda started Hogwarts herself, another barrier came between them.

"So, who are your friends, Andromeda?" their father asked, the evening they returned home after the first term. The seemingly casual question was laced with pointed interest, and his three daughters knew what he really meant. _Are you associating with people worthy of our acquaintance_?

Andromeda ducked her head and mumbled a few names that she knew her parents would approve of: Bulstrode, Greengrass, Flint. Sure enough, their father nodded, looking satisfied. Bellatrix, however, laughed loudly.

"What about Tonks?" she jeered. "Spend plenty of time with him as well, don't you?"

Andromeda went slightly pale as her mother's head jerked upwards. "Tonks?" her father repeated slowly. "The farmer's boy? I did not know he was at Hogwarts."

"He might as well not be. He got sorted into Hufflepuff," Bellatrix sniggered into her soup and their mother looked beside herself with indignation.

"Is this true?" she demanded. "You _associate_ with children from other houses? _Mudbloods_ from other houses?"

"We're friends." Andromeda's voice shook as she answered but she glared at her parents defiantly all the same.

"You cannot be friends with the son of a muggle farmer, Andromeda." Druella's face was now twisted with anger. "Don't be absurd. I forbid it!"

"But-"

"You will not talk to him again, Andromeda, do you understand me?" Cygnus's voice was calmer but firm and Narcissa watched her now favourite sister scowl in anger, but bow her head, apparently accepting defeat. Their father's word was law.

"Why did you tell them?" Andromeda demanded of Bellatrix later that evening, her eyes wide with dismay.

Bellatrix merely shrugged. "Didn't think it mattered," she said carelessly. Narcissa, silently watching the exchange from the side-lines as she often did, saw the hurt in Andromeda's eyes turn to hardened understanding. Their oldest sister had clearly changed more than they had thought.

Andromeda forgave Bellatrix, because they always forgave each other, but she was very careful from that moment on what she told her, shocked by her sudden betrayal. Sadly, she appeared to lose trust in Narcissa too, and the confidences that had once been shared as easily as the air they breathed gradually became private, until eventually she stopped telling her about her life at school altogether. By the time Narcissa started Hogwarts herself, several years later, she knew no more about Andromeda's life than she did about Bella's. And so a once unbreakable alliance between three sisters was shaken, and the trust that had been at the heart of their solidarity was damaged beyond repair.

*

Despite the fact that they had grown apart, the three girls remained amicable for several more years. Then, as might have been predicted, everything changed once more.

Narcissa was in her third year, Andromeda in her sixth, and Bellatrix was about to take her NEWTs and seemed ready to take on the world once she left school. It was rare, now, that the three sisters spent any time together at all, but it just so happened that one bright spring afternoon they had found themselves in the same spot in the school grounds and were talking together as they stretched out in the sun. Narcissa was just beginning to think that it was like old times, when Bellatrix spoke.

"I was talking to Rabastan about you yesterday, Andi. Saying you two should go into Hogsmeade together at the weekend. He said he'd be happy to take you out!"

The atmosphere changed instantly from relaxed to awkward and Andromeda looked coldly back at her older sister.

"I doubt he meant it," she replied. "He likes you. He always has. And anyway, I detest Rabastan. He's the most arrogant person I've ever met!"

Bellatrix glared at her. "That's my friend you're talking about Andi," she said in a low, dangerous voice. "A very good friend. And if he's a bit arrogant, he has reason to be. His parents are some of the most important, highest ranking wizards in England! And the richest!"

Andromeda merely rolled her eyes and Bellatrix sighed impatiently.

"You could do a lot worse, you know."

"You go out with him then," Andromeda retorted. "I'm not interested."

Bellatrix just laughed. "I've got my eye on Rodolphus," she shrugged. "I'm still in touch with him. We're planning to see each other this summer."

"Rodolphus?" Narcissa blurted out, in surprise. "But... won't Rabastan mind you going out with his brother? He does like you, you know he does!"

Bellatrix's dark eyes narrowed.

"Don't be so naïve, Cissy. You think this is about who _minds_? Just about boys? About who likes who and teenage romance?" She had lowered her voice now. "The Lestrange family are well connected, you know. A very valued family. They _know_ , Cissy. I mean, really know. About what goes on in our world. Stuff even _our_ parents don't know about. Rabastan tells me of things you would not believe, things he is not even permitted to speak of-"

Andromeda just snorted in derision. "So what's he telling you for then?" she demanded.

Bellatrix glowered. "He trusts me, of course," she declared. "And don't you see what that could mean for us Andi, if we were associated with them, for the long term? You know we will be expected to marry into a pureblood family-"

"You're thinking about marriage?" Narcissa gaped at her two older sisters, only just of age, barely more than girls. "Now?"

"Of course not, not yet," Bellatrix replied witheringly. "But we will have to quite soon. And who better than the Lestranges, one of the only other families in this country with blood as pure as ours? Two sons, two daughters, to bring the families together." Her voice was impassioned, her chest heaving, and naive as she may be, Narcissa knew even then that it was not a romantic fantasy that made Bellatrix's eyes glow so vividly. It was the thought of power, an influential partner, and the chance to be at the very centre of the inner workings of their world.

But Andromeda did not seem to be paying any more attention to the conversation. She was staring across the courtyard to where a group of sixth year students were lounging in the sun, chatting and laughing. Then she spoke.

"If I marry it will be for love," she said determinedly. "Nothing else."

Bellatrix just gave a cackle of laughter. "A nice idea Andromeda, but be realistic. You will only be allowed to marry a pureblood, our parents will not permit anything less. They have been discussing our marriage since we were eight years old, probably before then. And that limits your options. So you'd better choose carefully who you fall in love with!"

Andromeda finally tore her gaze away from the other students and looked back round at them. Her face was set and an odd expression flickered in her eyes as she took a deep breath. "It doesn't matter," she said. "I've already made my choice."

Bellatrix sneered at her. "You already know who you're going to marry?"

"Maybe not, but I do know one thing," Andromeda said. She got to her feet and looked down at Narcissa and Bellatrix in turn. "I am not going to fall in love with someone simply because of their parentage, or who they're related to, or their house. And who I end up marrying certainly won't be dictated by how much magical blood they have. I don't give a damn about purity of blood."

Two pairs of eyes, one dark, one blue, widened visibly at this last statement and the vehemence behind it. The one sentence that defied all the careful lessons given to them throughout their youth, followed by the dire warnings that had followed them through their school years. It was the rule they had been taught to abide by from day one, that being a pureblood and preserving the pureblood line was a priority, and associating with anyone of lesser stature was strictly forbidden.

Her older sister sprang to her feet, fury suddenly twisting her elegantly carved features. "Don't be a fool," she hissed menacingly. "The world is changing, you know. Powers are shifting. Have you not heard the rumours? Soon, blood purity may be all that matters, and where will you be then if you have not had the sense to care now, before it is too late?"

But Andromeda just turned away from her siblings. "I don't care," she said simply. Her voice did not reciprocate the anger of her sister and she was calm. "I don't think I've ever really cared, Bella, but I _can't_ care now. Not now I've seen that it truly doesn't matter what you are born, or who your parents are, or which house you are in. I may be a Slytherin, but that doesn't mean I have to act like one."

She walked away without looking back. Both older and younger sister gaped after her as she crossed the grounds and joined up with the group of sixth years, who were now getting up and preparing to go to class. Narcissa could see Ted Tonks's sandy hair among the throng, and watched in amazement as he turned to smile at her sister, before putting an affectionate arm around her shoulders. Frank Longbottom, captain of the Gryffindor quidditch team, muttered something to her with a grin, and a group of Ravenclaw girls immediately involved her in their conversation. Watching them, Narcissa was baffled as to how the group could possibly welcome a member of their most rivalled house into their midst so easily, without so much as a suspicious look or a cold shoulder. It was only as one of the Ravenclaw girls paused in the conversation and turned to stare over to where she and Bella were still sitting, her eyebrows raised with interest, that the realization hit her. This was not a new development. Andromeda had chosen her friends a long time ago, probably as far back as her first year at Hogwarts, when her father had forbidden her to speak to Ted Tonks and she had appeared to accept defeat. Judging by how at ease she looked in his company, she had disobeyed him from the start, and had clearly worked hard to conceal the friendship over the years. But there was no hiding it now, and the coloured hood of Andromeda's robe stood out proudly, a lone green speck amidst a melange of red, blue and yellow: proof, not of a sudden change of heart, but simply the choice to declare her longstanding loyalties to the rest of the world.

Bellatrix watched them, scowling ferociously, and then turned to her younger sibling.

"You agree with me, don't you?"

"I-" Narcissa, in truth, didn't know what to say. She admired Andromeda. She always had, and her most recent display of bold honesty had impressed her somewhat. But the ferocity of Bellatrix's gaze frightened her, and all she could manage in reply was a feeble stutter. Bellatrix snorted in derision and sprang to her feet.

"You're hopeless," she said coldly. "But you need to choose carefully Cissy. No good will come of Andromeda associating with that lot," she threw a final, contemptuous look in the group's direction. "I can promise you that."

She walked away, leaving her sister shivering suddenly in a gust of early summer breeze.

And so a friendship that had withstood many differences and changes over the years was brought to an abrupt end, and never renewed, and three sisters who had once shared everything now only shared a prejudiced upbringing and a genetic bond of blood. Segregated by their interests, divided by their loyalties and turned against each other by their choices, the paths of the three Black sisters led them down very different roads from that day onward.

Andromeda continued down the path that had been laid ahead of her at seven years of age, when she had first met Mr Tonks the farmer and his son and found herself intrigued by the normality and friendliness of those people she had always been taught to despise. Her loyalties became apparent ten years later, on that spring afternoon, as she looked her eldest sister in the eye and told her boldly that she would marry for love or she would not marry at all, and walked off to join the friends she had only dared associate with in secret until then. And her choice was set in stone the day she announced to her family that she was going to have a child, the child of a Muggle-born no less, and was subsequently disowned by her own parents and removed unceremoniously from the Black family tree by her dear old aunt. But for every day she looked into the kindly eyes of her husband, or the vibrant face of her beautiful daughter, she was proud of her choice and she had no regrets.

Bellatrix's path was made obvious to her the day she started Hogwarts, the day she met children from families even more powerful and prestigious than her own and realized what associating with them could mean for her own status in the magical world. In later years, her friend Rabastan offered her an insight into the regime that he claimed would soon dominate their world, introducing her to a new master, Lord Voldemort himself. Her loyalties were confirmed when she married his older brother Rodolphus, not for love, not even to appease her family, but for the powerful status and proximity to the Dark Lord that he alone could give her. The ruthless and unyielding nature that had been apparent even in her childhood was brought into full force as she did everything she could to prove her worth to her new master, never fully comprehending that he would never love and revere her the way she did him. Nevertheless, she revelled in her position as one of Voldemort's most trusted servants and she never regretted her choices either.

But for Narcissa, the youngest of the three, the least decisive and most easily influenced, her path was not clear for a very long time, torn as she was between fear of one sister and admiration for the other. Although fear won out in the end, she could never loath Andromeda the way the rest of her family did, her outward disapproval serving only as a mask for her envy that she had not had the courage to act in the same way. For her loyalties were blurred also. She married more for her parent's approval than for anything else, yet a part of her came to love Lucius all the same, despite what she had thought of him during their first childhood meeting. His manipulative nature worried her for many a year and the Dark Mark burned into his arm served as a permanent reminder of the dangerous life she had chosen by marrying a Death Eater. Yet he treated her well, and he showed her a respect that very few people ever had, and she grew to feel safe and protected in his company.

When Draco was born, she forgot her initial worries altogether, because Lucius's position gave them a protection that very few other children could be offered as Lord Voldemort rose to even greater heights of power. Upon his unexpected downfall, her husband's slippery nature spared them too, for they escaped the trials that most Death Eaters were subjected to, and their family was accepted graciously into the high rankings of the wizarding world. With one sister imprisoned, and the other estranged from her entire family, Narcissa learnt to be grateful for what she had, and made peace with the life she had settled for, forgetting her reservations as her son grew up pampered and privileged, a prince among magical children.

Nevertheless, Narcissa was not proud of her life's decisions. She had many, many regrets. And when Voldemort rose once more to power, and her son was subsequently put in graver danger than she could have possibly imagined when she had accepted Lucius's hand in marriage and the promise of protection against the Dark Lord, she began to understand the true consequences of letting other people dictate her actions.

But it was not until the 2nd May 1998, in the dead of night as she walked towards the apparently lifeless form of Harry James Potter to find out if he was indeed dead, that she found the strength to do something about it and confront her true loyalties. For as she bent down and felt Harry's beating heart and asked him to confirm that Draco too was still alive, the relief she felt upon his reply was not only for her son. She knew that Harry Potter's continued survival increased the chances of Lord Voldemort's downfall, and it was that thought that propelled her to her feet, that caused her, for the first time in her life, to defy those more powerful than her rather than succumbing to their will. It was not just for Draco, but for the good of the entire wizarding world that she gazed back at the man who was her enemy, who would always have been her enemy if she had only had the strength to admit it, and boldly uttered the two words that would subsequently play a part in his final destruction.

"He's dead."

***

Narcissa stared miserably over the fields. If only she had made that choice a long time ago, staying loyal to the sister she admired and liked rather than caving to the sister she feared. But it was too late now. And here they were, imprisoned in their own home, awaiting trial. In just a few days they would be at the Ministry of Magic, where their fate would be decided. She feared the worst. Lucius had no protection to offer her now.

Narcissa never planned on making contact with Andromeda. She may not have been directly involved in her daughter's murder, like Bellatrix had, but she had inevitably played a role in the invasion of Hogwarts, and she knew that Andromeda was unlikely to forgive her for that. She didn't blame her. If anything had happened to Draco during that battle she would not have forgiven herself either.

Yet Andromeda surprised her. For when their trial came about, and Harry Potter himself gave testimony in their favour, declaring that if it hadn't been for Narcissa's defiance in the forest, the war may have endured and claimed hundreds more lives, she was surprised to see her own sister sitting in the jury, her face serious, listening intently to every word, having reclaimed a favour that the Ministry owed her from long ago to attend the trial and judge the fate of the accused.

And when the vote was cast, and the judge demanded that those in favour the Malfoys' official pardon raise their hand, Narcissa dared to glance up at her elder sister, and saw with astonishment that Andromeda's mouth was set and proud, her dark eyes never leaving Narcissa's pale blue ones as she raised her hand into the air. The majority was passed, and as Andromeda lowered her hand she gave Narcissa a nod of acknowledgement, the smallest of gestures to suggest that an alliance long lost could be reformed.

Bellatrix's body was cremated, as were those of all the Death Eaters who had died in the final battle. There was an official ceremony, and the names of the deceased were read one by one, not in honour, but in memory of those who had not had the courage to resist Lord Voldemort's dominion, and those who had never been taught to take the moral path in the first place. Harry Potter was insistent of this, declaring that not all those who lost their way and fell to the dark side were evil at heart, and that what could not be pardoned in life should nonetheless be forgiven in death. As the hero of the hour, his wish had been instantly granted. Narcissa was surprised to see Harry among the few who attended the ceremony, but even more so to see Andromeda, who stood slightly apart from the other members of the crowd, tears falling from her eyes.

She had never seen either of her sisters cry before. Whether Andromeda mourned for Bellatrix's final victims, or for the life the three of them had abandoned so long ago, or both, Narcissa never knew, and it was not her place to ask. They were not friends, after all, merely allies once more in a world that had no place for animosity if it was to be rebuilt anew. But she left her husband's side and went to hold Andromeda's hand, feeling relieved that she accepted it and held on tightly, a tiny reminder of the bonds of comforting friendship they had shared as children.

The ceremony came to an end, and the few who had attended it departed, all but two woman, one dark haired, one blond, who stood there, heads bowed, as the sun went down and the black fumes from their sister's body spiralled high into the sky: one final image of those three little girls, once inseparable, once united, once the best of friends, now estranged beyond all likely chance of reconciliation in their shattered, grief-filled world.


	5. Percy Returns

* * *

**Percy Returns**

_"What made you see sense, Perce?"_

* * *

Percy Weasley had always felt slightly apart from the rest of his family. Oh, he knew they _loved_ him, because that's what families did. But he had always felt a little bit of an outsider, nonetheless, never quite as involved as everyone else was in the Weasley comradery, in-jokes and laughter.

He sat, one dark May afternoon, contemplating this, as he stared down at the photo he kept in his drawer at work. Recently, he had found that he was getting it out nearly every day simply to look at it.

Nine freckled faces grinned back at him from the family picture inside the frame.

Trying to ignore his own face, which was not particularly cheerful and which, because the timing of this photo had coincided with an outbreak of acne, bore a blotchy skin complexion underneath an unflattering haircut, he looked instead at the boys who stood either side of their father. Arthur had a hand on each of his eldest sons' shoulders.

Bill and Charlie, his older brothers, who had always shared some kind of special bond that he just couldn't quite see. He could still remember the day that, as a young first year, he had stood in the Hogwarts entrance hall, watching enviously as they came in from the grounds together, talking and laughing in their own little world. He had noticed the way that heads turned as they walked past, students looking in awe at the school's handsome Head Boy and Gryffindor's quidditch hero, who had just captained the house to a third consecutive quidditch cup. And Percy had just stood there staring at them, wishing that he could be walking with them. They had not seen him watching, and Charlie had given Bill a casual sort of high five before they went their separate ways, the students continuing to gawk after them.

Percy had hoped so much that one day, students would look up to _him_ like that. But he had never seemed to be able to command that sort of respectful, awe-filled attention. Not even when he had been made a prefect. Not even when he had got the Head Boy badge himself, and worn it proudly just like Bill had done. It had become increasingly obvious over his final years at school that people seemed to regard him as a bit of a joke, rather than as a role model or a figure of authority to be admired.

Part of him blamed Fred and George for that, of course. His scampish twin brothers who had somehow managed to make him a laughingstock with the whole of Gryffindor tower just a few weeks into their first term at Hogwarts. And he _still_ didn't know how they had done it.

_Percy climbed into in bed in his dormitory, getting an early night so as to be fresh and prepared for the Transfiguration test in the morning. Laying down his head, and about to shut his eyes, a voice suddenly echoed round the room. A voice that was soft and harmonious and…singing?_

"Sleep little Percy, don't you cry,

And I will sing you a lullaby.

Hush little Percy, lay down your head,

Shut your eyes now, it's time for bed."

_Percy sat bolt upright and looked round in astonishment, but the other boys in his dormitory were nowhere to be seen, no doubt still celebrating the quidditch victory over Hufflepuff that they had secured earlier._

_As a second verse started up, Percy realised that it was coming from his very own bed, vibrating through the four oak posts and the velvet curtains._

"Sleep little Percy, don't you frown,

The skies are dark and the sun's gone down.

Snooze little Percy, nice and warm,

Safe from the dark and the cold and the storm."

_And there was a third verse, as well!_

"Sleep little Percy, it's nap-nap time,

Must not stay up past your bedtime.

Snore little Percy, snore away,

Tomorrow will bring a brand-new day."

_The next day however, was not fun at all! It seemed that the sound of the bedtime lullaby had been audible from nearly all the dormitories in Gryffindor tower, and Percy found it very hard to concentrate on his Transfiguration test when people kept humming – whether intentionally or not – Sleep Little Percy, in all directions. It did not take him long, on spotting the smirking faces of his twin brothers over lunch that day, to work out who was responsible._

_In the weeks (and months) that followed, Percy spent many an hour wracking his brains to figure out how to get the lullaby to stop, puzzling even more at how Fred and George, little first years who barely even did their homework, had managed to cast this charm that he, a third year and top of the class, could not figure out how to counter._

_Every so often, the lyrics would be expanded or modified, and still, as the weeks went on, he just couldn't figure out how to stop it._

"Sleep little Percy, don't be alarmed,

The words have changed but the bed's still charmed.

Listen little Percy, hear my song,

You know the words now, so sing along."

_Percy tried even harder, scouring every library book he could find. But he was far too proud to ask anyone else for help, and as the weeks wore on, the lullaby just became an accepted part of the evening ritual in Gryffindor tower. People stopped laughing and even stopped singing it in the corridors, but it didn't stop Percy's face burning with embarrassment every time he heard it._

"Sleep little Percy you must be tired,

Your mind is scrambled, your brain's expired,

Relax little Percy, it's getting late,

It's time to rest and recuperate.

Sleep little Percy shut your eyes,

The morning may bring you a nice surprise.

Dream little Percy; sweet, sweet dreams,

Tomorrow may not be as bad as it seems."

In his office, Percy sighed and stared down at the photo, the melody of _Sleep Little Percy_ suddenly in his brain. He shook his head irritably to rid it, but the twins grinned up at him unperturbed.

He looked at Ron's face instead. Percy had always been a little bit friendlier with Ron growing up than he had been with the twins. Indeed, for a few years the two of them had been very close. At the age of five, Percy had wanted to be a Herbologist, and he had enjoyed taking Ron out into the garden and showing him all his plant specimens. And Ron had sat there and seemed quite interested, even if he did tend to manhandle the plants a little more than Percy would have liked. It was on one of his specimen hunting expeditions that he had found Scabbers, his beloved old rat, who he'd then given to Ron a few years later. And Ron had seemed to appreciate the gift a lot, even if he did grumble that Scabbers was useless. He had at least been very upset, a few years ago, when Hermione's cat had eaten Scabbers, although Percy had taken the news fairly stoically, as his parents had been warning him for a long time that their pet probably did not have much longer to live.

Yes, he had been close to Ron for a time. But when Ginny had started walking and talking, Ron had discovered that playing _Spy Dudes and Dragons_ with his little sister was much more up his street, and so Percy had lost his short-term playmate.

He had never felt particularly close to Ginny at all, although admittedly this may have been his own fault, convinced as he had been at that young age that boys were much better than girls. To him it had seemed a logical conclusion to draw. After all, there were many more boys than girls in his family, and it was his father, not his mother, who went out to do important Ministry work with his briefcase every day. His mother, however, had been very quick to rob him of this notion when he had voiced it aloud.

" _But that's a man's job_!" he had said in amazement, on finding out that their current Minister for Magic was, in fact, a woman. And Molly Weasley had put her hands on her hips and looked down at him sternly and told him in no uncertain terms what she thought of _that_ brand of reasoning. And so Percy had been very careful not to say anything like that again. But by that point he had already been dismissive of Ginny too many times for her to view him in the same was she did her other brothers. She idolised Bill and Charlie, who had always spoiled her and doted on her, and she would count off the days on her calendar until they came home from school for the holidays. She laughed along with the twins, and, despite their frequent teasing, they often included her in their jokes and pranks. And Ron, due to their shared interests and the fact there was only one year between them, became her playmate and her confidant and (or so it seemed to Percy) her favourite brother of all.

Percy had noticed, although he'd pretended not to, that he was the only brother for whom Ginny had not burst into tears, when he'd gone off to school for the first time. And so, once again, Percy had felt like the odd one out in his family, even though his mother had always done her very best to stop this from being the case.

Percy felt a lump in his throat as he looked down at his mother, who gazed up at him from the picture, a little forlornly, he thought, although of course that could just be his imagination. She had sent him so many letters over the past three years. Letters telling him she loved him, giving him their news, pleading for him to write back. For the first couple of months, he had just thrown them all in the bin. When she had written that first Christmas to tell him that his father was in hospital after a serious injury, Percy had cried, alone in his little flat in London. But he had still been too proud to acknowledge the letter, and the package that he knew contained his knitted Christmas jumper had been returned, unopened, to The Burrow.

He had regretted it almost immediately, and more so on Christmas eve, which was a particularly cold winter's night. And he had spent that Christmas Day alone, trying not to wish that he was back with his family, sitting around their Christmas tree, wearing his blue jumper and eating his mother's homemade treats.

When the truth had come out that summer, about You-Know-Who really being back, Percy had felt too ashamed to approach his family, too embarrassed to be humble and admit he had been wrong, and most of all, too afraid of what his dad would say. How could he face his father, after all the terrible things that he had said to him during that last, awful evening he had spent at home?

Arthur Weasley stared up at him from the photograph too, his face as gentle and kindly as ever, but Percy was sure he could see the hurt and disappointment in his eyes. Or was that just his imagination as well?

He tried to block out the memory of that argument with his father, but it just wouldn't leave him alone.

_The family were all laughing and joking, quizzing their dad on the latest tale of crazy old Perkins in the office and teasing him about his new muggle acquisition (an immersion blender); moaning at Ron for taking too much mashed potato; admiring (out of sight of their mother) one of Fred and George's latest inventions and happily discussing the fact that their eldest brother would be home for the foreseeable future in just a matter of days._

_But Percy couldn't concentrate on any of this. He was bursting with news! And as soon as his mother sat down after placing the final dish of vegetables on the table, he spoke._

" _I have some news!" he announced importantly. "I've been promoted."_

_Heads turned towards him in surprise._

" _Promoted?" His mother and father both spoke at the same time, but he couldn't help noticing that his Dad sounded distinctly less pleased than his Mum did. Arthur was the one who continued, still in that cautious tone of voice. "What do you mean, promoted?"_

_Percy couldn't help but feel a flash of annoyance. Just because his father didn't chase after promotions, didn't mean that he got to bring his son down too._

" _Promoted," he said again. "You know, offered a better position. As of Monday, I will officially be," he cleared his throat. "Junior Assistant to the Minister."_

" _Oh, Percy that's wonderful!" His mother exclaimed, jumping up and giving him a hug and a kiss on the cheek._

_Behind her, Fred, George and Ginny pulled disgusted faces and mimed vomiting into their food, but Percy didn't care what they thought. They had always mocked him. He looked at his father instead, expecting to see a similar expression of pride. But Arthur Weasley was now looking extremely concerned._

" _Junior Assistant to the Minister?" he said quietly. "That's-" He hesitated. "That's quite a big jump there, Percy. Not that I'm saying you haven't been working very hard, but-"_

" _Who did you poison?" Fred chipped in. "Go on, tell us, we won't throw you to the dementors."_

_Percy scowled at his brother. "Don't be so ridiculous," he snapped. "As Dad says, I've been working extremely hard, and this is my reward. The Minister came and requested me personally," he added, puffing up his chest._

_At this, his father looked even more worried. "Percy," he said quietly. "Could we have a little chat, please – in the kitchen?"_

_Feeling distinctly displeased that his father seemed to be putting a dampener on his important news, Percy nevertheless allowed himself to be led through to the other room. Everyone at the table had fallen silent._

" _Listen, Percy." Once in the kitchen, Arthur turned to face his son. "Please don't take this the wrong way. But… I'm not sure that this… promotion… is quite what it seems to you. I think that Fudge may have a personal agenda regarding this…That he may be using you."_

_Percy stared back at his father in outrage. How could he possibly be expected to view this statement as anything other than deeply insulting?_

" _As I've just said, I know you have been working very hard," Arthur went on hastily, seeing his face. "It's just-"_

" _Why on earth would Minister Fudge be using me?" Percy cut in sharply._

_Arthur hesitated again before replying._

" _To get to me."_

" _You?" Percy couldn't stop the incredulous laugh that fell from his lips, anger and humiliation that his news had been so poorly received stopping him from caring what he said, or how hurtful it might be. "Dad, why would Fudge want to get to you? No offense, but you're the laughingstock of the Ministry. I've been there for over a year now and your reputation… Well, to be honest, it's dragging_ me _down a little bit. Which should make it doubly impressive that I got this promotion."_

_Arthur Weasley looked as though Percy had just hit him._

" _What did you just say?" he said. The temperature in the kitchen seem to have dropped, but Percy felt heat in his face._

" _You heard me! You're a completely joke at the Ministry, and you really think that Cornelius Fudge would come and request my personal assistance in his office… just to get to you?"_

_His Dad's face was taught, his lips very thin, but when he spoke, it was in a voice of forced calm._

" _It's not just about me, Percy, it's Dumbledore as well. Fudge has been storming round for weeks now trying to find out information on Dumbledore, and he knows, as do a lot of people, that we as a family are close to him, and even closer to Harry Potter. I believe that Fudge is going to use you to spy on our family, and on Dumbledore, and Harry, and that's why you've been offered this promotion."_

_For a split second, Percy felt a terrible weight of disappointment as the truth of his father's words hit home. But this was quickly swallowed by pride and fury. This was his promotion._ His _promotion. And no one was going to take that away from him._

" _Well, you're wrong!" he said, his voice rising. "You're wrong. You're just jealous of my success, just because you've never been promoted yourself, and had to stay playing with your muggle toys for years, writing insignificant laws that no one really cares about."_

_His father's calm demeanour snapped in an instant._

" _How dare you!" he said, his own voice rising now too. "Staying in the department I'm in was a choice, Percy, because muggles and non-magical people deserve just as much protection as we do. Writing those laws is absolutely essential. It was_ my _choice, and it was the right choice."_

" _Oh yeah? Well it doesn't seem like it to me! And now what other misguided choices are you about to make? You're going to run around with Dumbledore, let the old fool take you down even further with him, with all this nonsense about You-Know-Who returning?"_

" _You-Know-Who HAS returned!" Arthur shot back, his voice rising even more. "Your own brother's best friend, a boy who has stayed at our house many times, who you know personally, witnessed it himself. Please Percy, think about what you are saying. You-Know-Who has returned, and Dumbledore is our best hope now. Fudge is just trying to cause trouble. Please don't let yourself be used like this!"_

_But Percy was too angry now to listen to any reasoned arguments._

" _You just think," he spluttered furiously. "You just think that – that… Just because you couldn't possibly imagine getting a promotion this soon… you think there has to be an ulterior motive here. But_ you've _got no ambition Dad, none! You've been at the Ministry years and years and you're still where you were when I started school. It's no wonder we've always been dirt poor-"_

" _HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT!" Arthur roared suddenly, so furiously that even Percy jumped back a little. His dad was no longer pale, and red spots has appeared on his cheeks. Dimly, Percy registered that he had never seen his father this angry, not even when he had caught Fred and George trying to get Ron to make an unbreakable vow at the age of five. Not that they would have succeeded. Although – who knew, after that lullaby trick…Regardless, Arthur was even more furious now than he had been back then._

" _How dare you say such things? My own son! We did not raise you to behave like this, Percy. And while you live in this house, whether you agree with what I say or not, you will treat me and the rest of your family with the respect that we taught you."_

" _FINE!" Percy shouted back. "Fine! Well I won't live in this house then. I'll move out."_

" _What?"_

" _You heard me. I'll move out. I can afford a place of my own now, and if you and Mum are going to go and run around after Dumbledore and become traitors to the Ministry, just on the word of some troubled teenage schoolboy, then I know where my loyalties lie. If you're just going to drag this family into the mud, then I won't_ be _part of this family!"_

_He was breathing very hard, glaring at his father._

" _Then don't be," Arthur said. "Leave, if you like. I'm not stopping you." It was barely more than a whisper, yet somehow, it hurt Percy more than everything that had come before it._

_Percy stormed out of the kitchen and back through into the dining room, meaning to walk past his family without looking at them. But he couldn't help it. His siblings were all staring at him. Percy could see the flesh coloured string in George's hand, and recognised it as an extendable ear, but it seemed that the last few minutes had not necessitated them anyway. They had clearly heard every word. Fred and George glared back at him stonily. Ginny looked most terrifying of all; her red hair seemed to stand on end, her eyes glowing in anger. Ron just gaped at him. His mother, however, was crying into a handkerchief._

" _P-Percy-" she began. But he had already stormed upstairs._

The memory faded, and Percy cringed with guilt and shame as he always did. The shame that always stopped him from going that extra step and properly making amends. The guilt as he remembered how he had stormed upstairs and packed his bags and headed off to London that very evening without another word to either of his parents. And when he had been forced to admit to himself that his father was almost certainly right about Fudge - if the disappointed look on the Minister's face when Percy told him that he'd left his family was anything to go by - he had certainly not admitted it out loud. The paperwork had been passed by this point. The job was his. And it had remained his when Fudge resigned and Scrimgeour took his place. And so the months had stretched on and on, and he continued to ignore his mother's letters, although he didn't throw them out anymore, and every time he picked up his quill and parchment, he never got further than _Dear Mum_ _and Dad,_ before tearing it up again and throwing it in the bin.

At Christmas, last year, he had been approached by Scrimgeour, who had asked him very meaningfully, didn't he want to see his family over Christmas? Scrimgeour had business in a village near Ottery St Catchpole, and perhaps Percy would like to accompany him, so that he could see his family? Percy had been given no option of refusing, and although he knew immediately that this also had an ulterior motive, a little part of him had suddenly been hopeful. Perhaps, somehow, this would be the thread of reconciliation that he had secretly been waiting for.

But when he stared into the cold faces of his family, all gazing at him in confusion and suspicion as to why he was there, accompanied by the Minister for Magic no less, his pride had overwhelmed him, the guilt had returned, the fear had prevented him from even looking directly at his father. And he had not been able to say the things that he'd hoped he might. He had stayed for a while, even once Scrimgeour, after a tense meeting with Harry, had left, but it had been a horrible and awkward affair. Eventually, when the dollop of mashed parsnip on his plate had exploded down his shirt – he blamed Ginny – he had left in a huff and gone back to his flat and spent that Christmas alone too.

The Christmas just gone he had not had any choice but to spend alone. So many times in the last few months he had just wanted to go home, to return to The Burrow with his father and tell his family that it had all been a mistake. But it was more than pride and fear alone that prevented this now. He knew that his family were being tracked, and that the Ministry were imprisoning traitors left, right and centre. As pleased as his mother, at least, might be to see him, Percy didn't think she would be too thrilled if he got himself or any of the family thrown in Azkaban. So he had never approached his father at work, and continued to let his family think he was still angry with them, and let the Ministry think he was no longer a Weasley, however much it was now costing him to do this. He just hadn't known what else to do.

Then, in recent weeks, his father had stopped coming to work. Percy had managed to get snippets of information from various sources. It seemed that the Ministry knew that Ron was with Harry Potter, although how it had taken them so long to figure that out, Percy had no idea. It sounded as though Ron and his friends were alive, their location unknown. And the rest of the Weasley family had left The Burrow to a new location, also unknown. Percy suspected they would be at Aunt Muriel's, as her house would be ideal for hiding during war time. Not that he was going to tell anyone that!

A few weeks ago, on a small errand in Hogsmeade, something had occurred to him, and he had popped into The Hog's Head for a quick drink. Aberforth had been sullen and unfriendly – as always – and even less pleasant when Percy had asked him if he had any news on things that were going on, under the official Ministry radar. _I'm not my brother, boy_ , he had growled. Eventually, however, he had relented, and told Percy that he was still doing his part, helping students up at the school, keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. And if he got news of anything to do with Percy's family, he would be in touch. Percy had been most grateful for his reluctant help, and then headed back to the Ministry before his prolonged absence raised suspicions.

And here he sat, just a couple of weeks later, staring down at the photo of his family like he did every day. He still had not heard news of them. He could only hope that no news was good news. Sighing, Percy replaced the photo in his desk drawer, and then took out some paperwork he needed to complete. Ten minutes later however, a shimmer in the corner of his left eye made him look up.

A silver goat had appeared on the office floor before him. Before Percy could register the strangeness of this, it spoke.

_"Percy – they are fighting up at the school. Sounds like it could be the final battle. Thought you should know."_

The silver animal faded to nothing, but Percy was already on his feet. Grabbing his cloak from the back of the door, he ran from the room.

* * *

A few weeks later, Percy lay awake, staring at his ceiling, trying desperately to go to sleep. But he just couldn't switch off. The house was silent - almost eerily so. Of course, it was always quiet at night, barring the ghoul in the attic, but even that day had been devoid of the usual chaos. Charlie was back in Romania, Bill and Fleur back to Shell Cottage, Molly and Arthur checking a few things over at Muriel's, and Ron, Harry and Hermione had set off to track down Hermione's parents in Australia two days previously. Ginny had been most displeased to be left behind – again – but had been slightly mollified by Harry's assurances that he really would have loved her to come (did she honestly think he was looking forward to several weeks third-wheeling Ron and Hermione?) and the promise that once she came of age and lost the trace, all four of them would go on a long, exotic holiday (his treat) and enjoy themselves properly. So Ginny had waved forlornly but stoically as the trio set off on another mission, and Percy had not seen much if his sister since their departure, as she had spent most of that time in her room.

George was also spending a lot of time in his own bedroom. It seemed he did not yet have the heart to go back to the flat in Diagon Alley that he had shared with Fred. Percy had barely spoken to him since the battle at all.

_Fred_. The mere thought of his death still caused an aching, burning sensation in his chest. Percy had fought so hard in that battle. He had tried so desperately to make up for lost time, firing curses in every direction, bringing down Death Eaters, defending friends, helping colleagues, tending to the wounded. But it had not seemed enough, not to him, anyway. And now You-Know-Who was gone, but at a terrible price. So many people were dead. People he knew. Old school friends. Work colleagues. His old teacher, Remus Lupin. Lupin's wife, a wonderful woman who had been so close to the rest of his family but who he had barely known. And worse, by far the worst of all, his own, loveable, laughing brother.

_Is this my punishment?_ Percy wondered, as he stared unseeingly into the darkness. _Is this my punishment for abandoning my family and cutting out everything that should have mattered to me in the darkest war of all time?_

_You know that's ridiculous_ , came a second little voice. _All wars have casualties. And anyway, if it's_ your _punishment, why would it be something that makes George suffer from it even more than you do?_

Starting sadly up at his ceiling, Percy could only think of George's words from a couple of weeks ago, as he addressed the crowds of people attending their brother's funeral. How George had managed to smile that day at all, Percy didn't know, but he had, and it hadn't wavered as he stared bravely out at the crowds of mourners and began to speak.

" _My twin brother was a joker, as most of you know. I would say our greatest achievement to date was bewitching Percy's bed at Hogwarts so that it sung him a lullaby every night without fail. Six months, it took him, to figure out the counter spell, during which half the Gryffindor dormitories had to endure the melodious tones of "Sleep Little Percy," echoing through the tower every night!"_

_Percy shut his eyes, and put his arm around his mother, who had burst into sobs beside him, as George kept the smile fixed on his face and continued._

" _Fred was my brother, my business partner, and my best friend. We shared everything and we knew each other better than anyone else, and it is this that permits me to say that if he could talk to us right now he would tell us all very candidly that You-Know-Who is dead and finished and that we should all be getting smashed on Firewhisky, not sitting around in our mourning robes crying our eyes out."_

_Molly wept all the harder at this, and George was having to take deep, steadying breaths as he continued._

" _He would say that, not because he was heartless, nor because he wouldn't understand or believe in our grief, but because what Fred wanted, more than anything, was for everyone he loved to be happy. Fred understood other people more than you might have thought; he knew when they were sad or frightened or upset and most importantly of all he knew how to cheer them up. He was the middle born of our family, and perhaps, although we may not have noticed it until now, the centre of our happiness. We miss him more with every passing day… and rebuilding our lives will be one hundred times harder without Fred here to make us laugh as we do so. Yet we_ will _do it, in his honour, because he would have wanted us to live every moment with joy at having known and loved him, not remain in constant grief at his passing, which was for a good and noble cause."_

George had kept his brave face on all day, and in the days that followed as well, but Percy could see just how much he was struggling, more so even than their mother. This was made evident by his frequent walks alone down to the local woods, his long hours shut up in his room, his sudden trips to the bathroom in the middle of dinner. Just the day before, while out to get some fresh air himself, Percy had seen George and Ginny in a corner of the garden, Ginny with her arms round her brother, her face streaked with tears, and George with his face buried in her shoulder, his own shoulders shaking violently.

Percy had not approached them. His family had made it very clear, simply by their actions, that they held no grudges about what he had said and done in the past. But that didn't change the fact that, Battle of Hogwarts aside, he had not shared in their experience of the war. As unpleasant as working at the Ministry may have been these last few months, he had still profited from a protection that none of the rest of his family had known. Not his sister, stuck at school under the tyranny of the Carrows, nor Ron, on the run with Harry Potter. Not his twin brothers, who had risked their lives and freedom doing illegal radio broadcasts, nor Bill and his parents, protecting friends and family at every turn, constantly under the risk that they may be caught or imprisoned themselves. Even Charlie, while relatively safe in Romania, had had a rough time of it, doing whatever he could to help the dire situation in his home country from so far away, and having to avoid the foreign authorities - always on the lookout for traitors - as he did so.

But he, Percy, had been at the Ministry, keeping his head down and benefitting from the protection that only such a privileged position could give him. And although he knew that, once in that situation, he had not had any other option but to bide his time, and although the animosity with his family had vanished the second he'd set foot in Hogwarts that terrible night, sometimes he felt the barrier that now lay between them was even worse before. Unseen, unspoken, unacknowledged, yet so solidly there all the same. He had joined in the final battle and he shared their grief now. But he had fought a completely different war, however common the enemy. He had taken a different path to them at the very first fork in the road, and sometimes he felt that this simple fact may alter his relationship with his family forever, even as they all tried to pretend otherwise.

_I should get some sleep_ , Percy thought to himself. There was no point dwelling on this now. But he had not slept properly for days, and after half an hour tossing and turning he flicked his bedroom light back on, and pulled a book from his bookshelf at random, so see if reading something – _anything_ – would help.

As his eyes adjusted to the brighter light, he looked down at the title of the book he had just picked up.

_Prefects who gained power._

And George's voice echoed suddenly in his mind, from just a few weeks previously, laughing, joking, as his twin grinned along next to him, so very full of life. " _Well, we do look to our prefects to take a lead at such times as these."_

A sudden surge of deep, raw emotion built up inside Percy, so intense and unbearable that he found himself hurling the book across the room, where it hit the wall with a dull _thunk_. The sound that escaped him was not even human, more like an animal or some terrible beast, as he drew his knees to his chest, put a pillow on them to try and muffle his sobs and buried his face in it, as the guttural sounds continued to come from somewhere deep inside him.

"Percy?"

He looked up, quickly steadying his breathing, and trying to dry his eyes on his sleeve. Ginny was standing in the doorway, wearing a pair of checked pyjama bottoms and a black and red hoodie that Percy had seen Harry wearing the week before. By the look of her brushed hair and the lack of sleep in her eyes, Percy suspected that Ginny had not been asleep either, although perhaps she had just been woken by the sound of a heavy book hitting the other side of her bedroom wall. But she did not look annoyed. On the contrary, her face was crumpled with pity.

"Oh Percy!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" he said hastily, swinging his legs off the bed and reaching for a box of tissues that sat on his desk.

Ginny came over and sat down on the bed next to him. Then, to his complete astonishment, put her arms round him and hugged him tightly.

He could not remember ever hugging Ginny like this before. Cuddles as a baby, perhaps. Brief hello and goodbye hugs before and after Hogwarts, yes. A congratulatory pat on the back when she was sorted into Gryffindor. The awkward embrace that he could barely bring himself to give her when she had been rescued from the Chamber of Secrets, despite the overwhelming relief that she was safe, because he had felt so guilty for not keeping more of an eye on her. And of course, the necessary comfort that his whole family had shared in the wake of their brother's funeral. But never like this. Never warm, compassionate and prolonged, just as she had been with George the day before, as if the feel of her arms could make the pain go away entirely.

It couldn't of course, but that didn't mean it wouldn't help.

"It's ok to feel like this," she said softly, as they eventually broke apart. "It's ok to let it out. We all need to."

He nodded shakily.

"I just," he took a deep breath. "I just don't even know how to feel at the moment."

"I know."

"Sometimes…" he could barely get out the words. "Sometimes I feel like it's punishment… for everything I did."

Ginny's eyes sparkled suddenly with tears as she jolted up to look at him. "Percy," she said fiercely. "Percy you _know_ that's not true. You know that isn't the reason. This was a terrible war and terrible things happened. And anything that happened with _you_ is well in the past now, please believe that. You're back with us, and that's all that matters."

She sounded so sincere and so genuine that he couldn't help but feel a little heartened at her words, despite his grief and despair.

Ginny smiled sadly and gave him another hug, then a second sound at the door made them break apart and look up. George was standing there. He came in without a word and sat down in the chair opposite, pulling it over so that he could rest his legs on the bed just next to them.

"Heard you were both awake, and thought we could all use some chocolate," he said, handing them each a bar. "Replenishing chocolate too! So we can eat as much as we want."

Percy dried his eyes and accepted the bar of chocolate. Ginny wiped a tear from her own cheek as she reached out for hers. George's eyes stayed dry, but his face said it all. They sat in silence for a long time, the only sound that of chocolate pieces being snapped off and eaten.

Eventually, George spoke again. "Will this ever get easier, do you think?"

"Harry said it does," Ginny replied quietly, looking down at the chocolate as it grew back in her hands to a fully formed bar. "He said that when - when Sirius… died…" she swallowed. "For weeks it just felt like a huge hole had been torn inside him. But that one day, he woke up and the hole seemed a bit smaller than it had before. And he said that after a bit more time, you realise it's even smaller. And that it never goes away completely, but eventually it doesn't hurt the way it used to. And life goes on, a bit different than it was before, but finally you do feel ok and happy again, and although the hole is still there, it becomes part of you, and you learn to live with it."

"Well, I've learnt to live with one hole!" George said, indicating his ear. "I'm sure I can do it again. This one is quite a lot bigger though…" his voice wobbled.

Ginny just nodded. "I keep hoping that tomorrow will be the day that I wake up feeling better," she mumbled. "But tomorrow keeps coming and it's not happening."

"I guess if I could sleep at all, that would increase my chances of waking up feeling better," Percy sighed. He still had his arm round Ginny, and she laid her head on his shoulder.

"Oh! Well! If you can't _sleep_ , little Percy," George said, at once, his eyes lighting up a fraction. He cleared his throat and began to sing in a falsetto voice.

" _Sleep little Percy, don't you cry,_

_And I will sing you a lullaby._

_Just lie down and close your eyes,_

_And have sweet dreams until sunrise."_

Percy felt a laugh bubble up in his throat. It felt… odd. Almost rusty. Then he realised that he hadn't laughed at all for a very, very long time.

"I still don't know how you did that," he sighed, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "I spent hours and hours fuming away in bed, trying to figure out how first years - _first years_ \- had managed to make a charm that I couldn't break."

"Well…" George was suddenly looking a little sheepish. "We never planned on confessing this, but given… everything… I think I can finally come clean… We actually had a bit of help."

Percy's mouth fell open.

"Yeah," George went on. "I mean!" He hastened to clarify. "The lyrics are very much a Weasley original. I'm not letting anyone else take credit for those! But the actual charm was a bit too advanced for us back then. We were only in our first term, after all. We had planned to do it ourselves, obviously, but we couldn't quite figure it out."

"So who helped you?" Ginny asked eagerly, before Percy could ask that very question himself.

"Wood," George replied.

Percy looked confused and then outraged, although his eyes gave away the amusement behind them. "Wood helped you? _Wood_? Oliver Wood who was in the bed next to mine and who used to moan at me every night about hurrying up and finding a counter charm?"

"The very same!" George said. "Well, him and his cousin Fergus – you know, the one who was quidditch captain before him?"

Percy just nodded, still looking flabbergasted.

"It was during that party after Gryffindor won the first match of the season," George explained. "And we figured we had a bit of time to work it out as everyone was busy celebrating downstairs. Course, we hadn't banked on Fergus taking Wood up to the dormitories for a very serious talk about how next year Wood would be vice-captain, and get practice at leading the team while Fergus himself was still there to guide him bla bla bla…" George rolled his eyes at the thought of their quidditch obsessed schoolmates.

"Anyway, the two of them came into your dormitory and saw us trying to puzzle out how to put the charm on your bed. And we thought we were going to get a bollocking. But Wood just asked what we were doing, and we ended up telling them. And they both just grinned and said they wanted in. So Fergus worked out how to do the charm, and Wood would modify it with our new lyrics every so often, and then moan at you constantly so that you wouldn't suspect that he was involved."

Percy was just staring at his brother, while Ginny grinned between them.

"I don't believe it!" he said, shaking his head. "I just don't _believe_ it. What a betrayal-"

He stopped short. Somehow, right now, the word betrayal did not feel like a word that he should be able to toss around lightly. But George was still smiling, albeit a little sadly.

"Well, it still remains one of our greatest prank achievements, I think!" he shrugged. "But now you know the truth. Part of that achievement was merely concealing how much help we had from older students."

Ginny let out a sudden laugh. The atmosphere in the room felt a tiny bit lighter.

"Oh," George added casually. "And you know that day you finally found the countercharm in that library book?"

"Yeah…"

"We planted that in there for you," George informed him smugly. "We figured enough was enough, and you just weren't getting anywhere with figuring it out yourself, and Wood had already warned us that Paul Daniels was getting so sick of the song that he might strangle you in your sleep… or at least set your bed on fire. And we couldn't have Gryffindor tower burning down now, could we?"

He grinned, looking much more like his old self for a second.

"So one day while you were in the bathroom, we took the charm book you had got from the library, and planted an extra page with the counter spell, and let you think that you had found it all by yourself. But I mean… you didn't seriously think there was _actually_ a spell called "Lullaby Removal Charm" did you?

Percy's jaw dropped. There was a moment of silence in the little bedroom. Then all three of them burst out laughing. And once they had started, they just couldn't seem to stop. Ginny drew her knees up on the bed and buried her face in them, shaking with giggles. Tears had come back to Percy's eyes, but there were tears of laughter now, as well as sadness. George was the first to stop laughing, but even his face looked a little less shadowed with grief as the amusement subsided.

It wasn't much, but it was something. And when they finally said goodnight and went back to their own bedrooms, Percy did manage to drift off to sleep quite quickly. And when he woke up in the morning, something did feel a little bit different. There was still grief – so much grief - and guilt, and raw emotion. But it seemed to have been lessened ever so slightly by the night before. The grief helped by the conversation with two of his siblings, to whom he now felt closer than he ever had in the past. The guilt lessened by the knowledge that his family still loved him, no matter what mistakes he had made. And the raw emotion diluted with amusement, and laughter, and the memory of a soft, lilting lullaby, composed by two identical redheads, many years ago.


	6. The Pureblood Prince

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: I don't see Cursed Child as canon, but if you do then this chapter should be considered AU.

* * *

**The Pureblood Prince**

" _So that's little Scorpius…_

_Don't get too friendly with him though…_

_Grandad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood."_

* * *

Scorpius Malfoy stared up at the stool that he would be called to sit on any moment, feeling sick. Flashes of conversations from the last few days kept coming to him. His father promising him that he would buy him a new set of Slytherin robes as soon as he was sorted. His grandfather telling him to uphold the family honour. Brother and sister Cadmus and Morella, whose father was a friend of his own parents and who had been charged with looking after him on the long journey up to Hogwarts, assuring him that they would keep a seat free at their table.

Did he really want to be at their table?

He didn't exactly have a choice.

"Malfoy, Scorpius"

Heart in his mouth, Scorpius tripped up to the stool.

_Hmmm_ , said a little voice in his head, as the hat fell over his eyes. _A Malfoy, interesting. Normally I would know exactly where to put a Malfoy, but I am not so sure with you._

Scorpius felt a split second of relief that was quickly swallowed in a surge of panic. What on earth would his family say if he wasn't put in Slytherin?

_Ahh,_ said the voice. _But with me it is what you think that matters, not what your family thinks._

That was all very well for the hat to say, Scorpius thought grimly, but the hat had never encountered his cold, unyielding grandfather.

The voice laughed softly. " _Oh but I have! And his grandfather before him, and his grandfather before that. And they were far easier decisions than you are proving to be, I can assure you."_

There was another long pause in which Scorpius tried not to think anything at all and the hat muttered away to itself.

_Very well, my boy. I have made my decision. I don't think you will regret it._

Scorpius tensed, waiting for the hat's final word.

*******

The next day was a Saturday. It had never made sense to a lot of the students that they went back to Hogwarts on September 1st, regardless of what day that fell on, but that was just the way it always had been, ever since the founding of the school. It was quite nice, in a way, that they were able to spend their first day relaxing or exploring the grounds, rather than having to focus on lessons.

Scorpius sat up on the edge of his bed, fiddling with a piece of parchment and quill. He had been there for quite some time already, but the parchment was still blank.

"Everything ok?"

Dark haired, green eyed and serious faced, Albus Potter was looking over at him. The other three boys assigned to their dormitory were nowhere to be seen.

"Yes." He hesitated, still looking worried. "I just have to write to my parents. I'm not sure they are going to be happy when I tell them what house I'm in?"

"Did you not want to be here?" Albus sounded a little surprised. "The hat seemed to take into account what _I_ wanted…"

"No, no, _I_ don't mind at all! In fact, it's sort of a relief in a way. But... I think they will." Scorpius chewed his lip, then, something occurring to him, looked up.

"Won't your family mind? They've always been in the same house, haven't they?"

"Not _all_ my family!" Albus countered at once. "Mum and Dad were Gryffindors of course, and my grandparents, and most of my aunts and uncles, and my brother. I'm pretty sure my little sister will be too-"

Scorpius was grinning a little, despite his own worries. "Sounds like the whole family to me!"

"Not all my cousins are though!" Albus continued. "My cousin Rose got put into Ravenclaw yesterday, and Dom's a Ravenclaw too, in fourth year. And cousin Louis – that's her brother - is a total genius, Mum reckons that's where he'll be sorted when he comes in a couple of years as well. Then Roxanne is in Slytherin, even though her Mum and Dad and her older brother were all Gryffindors."

Scorpius grimaced. "Surely your family minded _that_."

Albus shrugged and then shook his head. "They didn't seem to," he said. "She loves it there, too. My Dad keeps telling me that the old days of Slytherins and the other houses hating each other are all in the past. But..." he hesitated. "I was so worried I would end up there all the same. I'm Harry Potter's _son_. I just thought people would never stop going on about it if I got put in Slytherin."

Scorpius pondered this.

"So are you the first Hufflepuff in your family?"

Albus nodded slowly.

"Actual blood relatives, I think so. That I know of, anyway. But Dad's godson Teddy was one and he's basically family. He's the reason I wanted to be here in the first place." Albus showed him a little silver badger pin that was sitting on his bedside table. "He gave me this the other day, for luck."

It was Scorpius's turn look surprised. "You actually _wanted_ to be in Hufflepuff?"

"Yes," Albus said, a touch defensively. "Why?"

"I just thought… I mean… I don't mind being here or anything, but everyone sort of talks about it as the dud house. You know, the last resort house."

"Teddy was Head Boy here two years ago," Albus said, a little stiffly. "And his Mum was a Hufflepuff too and she became an Auror. She was in the Order of the Phoenix and she died in the Great War. She went and fought in the Battle of Hogwarts just _one_ _month_ after Teddy was born." He folded his arms over his chest. He had never been entirely sure about the significance of this last bit, but from the way his mum had once talked about it, he understood it to be a very big deal.

Scorpius was looking even more anxious now.

"I didn't mean to offend you," he said, as his forehead knotted in consternation. "I guess… I'm just worried what my family will say. I don't think they'll be as accepting as yours, somehow."

He looked down at his blank parchment, then, still struggling with the right words, back up again. "So your mum and dad knew you wanted to be in Hufflepuff?"

Albus shrugged again. "Not really. They knew I didn't want to be in Slytherin and they seemed to think that I wanted to be in Gryffindor like everyone else. But it just would have been so much pressure. There is so much to live up to in Gryffindor. And Teddy always said Hufflepuff is really fun. Plus, my brother winds me up _all_ the time. At least this way I can get away from him."

Scorpius nodded, trying to get his head round this but not fully comprehending. Albus's family sounded very different from his own.

"My whole family have always assumed that I'd be in Slytherin," he sighed. "They never even asked whether I wanted to be or not. And maybe it wouldn't have been so bad, but I- I just felt scared every time I thought about it _."_

"Are all your family in Slytherin _?_ Surely there must be someone who isn't?"

Scorpius just shook his head, looking quite miserable.

"I don't have as big a family as you do. I'm an only child and so is my father and so is his father. My mother has one sister, and my Aunt Daphne and Uncle Malcolm were both in Slytherin. They never had kids so I don't have any cousins. And all my grandparents were Slytherins too. Grandfather is the one who goes on about it the most. Always saying how I need to uphold the family honour."

An almost panic-stricken look crossed his grey eyes as he mentioned his grandfather.

"Even my grandmother's sister who got disgraced from the family was a Slytherin. I know that they disowned her when she married a Muggle-born man and had a baby with him. I always wanted to meet her because I thought I would like her a lot, but they never even mention her by name."

He looked down at the still blank paper in his hand.

"Do you think I have to tell them?"

Albus couldn't help but smile at this. "I don't think you can get away with pretending to be in Slytherin for seven years. I think they might figure it out eventually."

Scorpius did not smile back.

"Why don't you just say…" Albus cleared his throat. "Dear Mum and Dad, I am in Hufflepuff. I know it's a surprise but I think I will like it. Love from Scorpius. We could go down to breakfast, and do this later," Albus added, as his stomach rumbled very loudly.

More than happy to postpone this difficult task, Scorpius put down his quill and parchment and followed Albus down to the Great Hall.

*******

At first, a small part of Scorpius had hoped very much that he wouldn't get on with Albus Potter, so that he would, at least, be spared another difficult discussion with his parents. But by the end of the very first day, he just couldn't help it. Adam, Joel and Humphrey, the other boys in his dormitory, were perfectly friendly it was true, but he just liked Albus best. And, rather surprisingly to him, Albus seemed to like him best as well.

Over breakfast, Albus chattered away, filling Scorpius in on information that he knew about Hufflepuff house from the rest of his family. They were rather late down to breakfast, because of their conversation up in the dormitory, but Albus said Scorpius could have the last bacon sandwich and took a bowl of Cheeri-Owls for himself.

That morning, they went off to explore the grounds, admiring the quidditch pitch and the courtyards. As they passed the Herbology greenhouses, they saw Professor Longbottom, Herbology teacher and head of Gryffindor house, who greeted Albus with a wave. "Hey Albus! Finding everything ok?"

"Yes thanks!"

"Well, give us a shout if you need anything! I'm always here to help you know, whether you're in my house or not. And give your parents my best when you speak to them."

"Professor Longbottom is really cool," Albus whispered to Scorpius, as they went on their way. "He helped win the Battle of Hogwarts with the sword of Gryffindor! Dad says he's too modest to ever speak about it, but that the history books need to remember Neville Longbottom just as much as they remember Harry Potter!"

At lunch, Albus introduced Scorpius to his brother James and his cousin Rose, who had both swung by their table to say hello. Rose was a little bit standoffish, it had to be said, and James was just plain rude. "Don't worry, he's rude to me too," Albus said matter-of-factly as James gave his young brother a punch on the arm and ran off to join some of his third-year friends. "There's Victoire though, she'll be nice to us!"

Victoire, a tall, blond, seventh year with a gold and scarlet badge pinned to her chest, was indeed very lovely, greeting Albus cheerfully and smiling as she was introduced to Scorpius, before assuring them that if they needed any help with anything, they were welcome to come to her. "Teddy says hi, by the way," she added to Albus. "He's _so_ pleased you're in Hufflepuff."

"She's Teddy's girlfriend," Albus said to Scorpius, as Victoire went on her way. "I hope when I have a girlfriend she is as cool and pretty as her. Not that I fancy my cousin, of course!" He hastened to add.

Scorpius didn't say anything to this.

Later that day, as they were sitting by the lake in some early evening autumnal sunshine, they were approached by two more members of Albus's extensive family, a redhead with curls and a lot of freckles and a taller girl with dark skin and long, shiny, black hair.

"Hey Al-Pal! Seen the Giant Squid yet?"

Albus grinned up at them. "Hey Dom! Hi Roxanne!"

"It's so nice to have your first day just to explore!" Dom exclaimed. "Our first day was so boring, all lessons and timetables. And I kept getting lost."

"We've already got lost plenty of times," Albus assured them. "This is Scorpius, by the way."

"I know," Roxanne replied at once. "I was sitting with Morella Flint when you got sorted. She was so shocked that you weren't put in our house."

Scorpius looked downcast at this, and Dom nudged her cousin sharply in the ribs.

"Well…hey, you're missing out, but I'm sure Hufflepuff won't be _too_ bad," Roxanne went on hastily. "Apparently they have great midnight feasts in there because they are so close to the kitchens. Although we are going to thrash you all at quidditch this year!"

"Not if Ravenclaw has anything to do with it," Dom replied grimly.

"Yeah, yeah, when was the last time you won the cup? Even Hufflepuff has won it more recently. No offense!" she added brightly, grinning at the two younger boys.

Dom just rolled her eyes. "Whatever… let's go to dinner, I'm starving! See ya Al!"

"All your family get on so well," Scorpius observed, as the girls moved on. "I wish my family was like yours."

Albus snorted in amusement.

"We don't always get on! Victoire argues with Dom _all_ the time because Dom's always borrowing her stuff and not giving it back, and Roxanne and my Aunt Angie have so many fights. And me and Lily find Rosie _so_ annoying sometimes…because she is always lecturing us on the proper use of words and correcting our speech and stuff. And sometimes I think I might actually hate James - even though I don't really, obviously - because he winds me up so much and acts like he's better than me…"

"Yes," Scorpius said patiently, as Albus's rambles tailed off. "But it seems like you're all still nice to each other, aside from all that."

Albus looked a little confused.

"Well yeah! Of course we are!" He pulled at some grass thoughtfully, his forehead furrowed. "Our parents always told us - and our grandparents did as well - that we have to be good to each other, always. Even if we argue, or if we don't always like each other or if we have different opinions, we still have to respect each other when it matters. They say that the reason The Great War was so bad was because people let hate and different opinions come between them, and that we must always remember that, and not let it happen again."

"My parents never talk about the war," Scorpius mumbled. "I asked Father once, but he just wouldn't tell me anything. I know some stuff from books, obviously, but I'm not allowed to ask questions about it."

"Maybe someone they knew died," Albus suggested wisely. "My Uncle George's twin died in the battle, and he doesn't really like talking about it, even now."

Scorpius merely shrugged. He had an idea that his parents had known plenty of people who had died, but he somehow didn't think this was the reason at all.

After dinner, the two of them went back up to the dormitory to resume the task of letter writing.

"I'm telling Mum and Dad that you are my friend!" Albus said, sucking on the end of his sugar quill as he paused in his scribbling.

"Won't they be upset?" Scorpius asked, looking up from his own parchment, which currently just held the words _Dear Mother and Father_. He may not know as much about the events of his parents' generation as Albus seemed to, but he did know enough to understand that his own father and Harry Potter had not exactly been the best of friends.

"No - I don't think so!" If Albus was indeed worried about what his parents would think, he was doing a good job of hiding it. He wrote to the end of the parchment – the last few words were very squeezed in - and put it in an envelope.

"Come on, lets go through to the common room and see what's going on - Is that all you've written?" he exclaimed in surprise, catching sight of Scorpius's letter.

Scorpius looked down at the letter. It was currently very short.

_Dear Mother and Father,_

_I am in Hufflepuff. I know it's a surprise, but I think I will like it._

Sighing, and about to sign his name, Scorpius thought for a second, and added a third sentence:

_I have already made a friend._

Trying not to think about the look that might appear on his father's – not to mention his grandfather's - face when he found out who that particular friend was, he wrote _From Scorpius_ at the bottom, put it in an envelope and sealed it.

*******

Ron and Hermione were round at the Potters' for a late Sunday breakfast when the letter arrived.

"Heard from Rosie?" Ginny asked Hermione, as Lily and Hugo disappeared into the playroom, engrossed in a very serious discussion about swapping Chocolate Frog cards.

"Oh yes, we got three rolls of parchment from her yesterday evening," Hermione smiled. "I think she was a little disappointed not to be in Gryffindor at first, but when she discovered that Ravenclaw tower has a whole separate reading room adjoining the common room, where they can go and read and study in peace and quiet, she got very excited."

"Just as well we didn't have that in Gryffindor, or you'd never have had time to help us save the world!" Ron grinned, helping himself to a huge portion of chocolate chip pancakes from the stack Ginny had put on the table.

"Ron, will you please leave some for the rest of us!" Hermione sighed, taking two off his plate and putting them on her own, before addressing Ginny again. "What about you? Heard from Al?"

"No, but we weren't really expecting to until today or tomorrow at least," Ginny shrugged. "Teddy's been in touch with Victoire though, obviously. She's seen him and he seems to be doing ok, and he's very happy with his sorting!"

"I think it will be good for him to be out of James's shadow for a bit," Hermione said seriously. "Especially as-" she broke off as a little brown owl, the tiny Scops that Harry and Ginny had given Albus as his Hogwarts going away present, fluttered in through the kitchen window.

"Speak of the devil!" Ginny took the letter and glanced at the scribbly handwriting.

"Read it out!" Harry looked up very briefly from the frying pan of cooking meat that he was tending to. Over twenty years on from living in Privet Drive, he still didn't quite trust anyone else to cook the bacon to perfection.

Ginny untied the letter from the owl's leg, shook out the square of parchment, and read:

" _Dear Mum and Dad,_

_I have had a great first day, although it's a bit confusing getting around and I got lost quite a lot."_

"Like father like son!"

" _I got put in Hufflepuff and I'm very glad. The common room and dormitory are awesome and I'm really happy I get to be in the same house as Teddy was._

_The food is great – I ate so much today."_

"Ahh I'd love a Hogwarts feast right now!" Ron's eyes glazed over as he poured syrup on his pancakes in a dreamy fashion.

" _I saw Neville in the grounds this morning, and he says hi. Also, I am going to Hagrid's for tea tomorrow now instead of Friday._

_James is being a dunghead as usual-"_ Harry and Ron snorted with laughter "- _but everyone else has been really nice._ Then I can't quite see what he's written here," Ginny paused, squinting. "Oh wait, it's crossed out."

She read on.

" _The castle is really cool and we saw the Giant Squid. I'm even looking forward to starting lessons on Monday._

_Say hi to Lils._

_Love From_

_Albus"_

"Sounds like he's doing great!" Hermione beamed.

"Wait, there's a PS." Ginny peered at the last couple of sentences, which had been squeezed in the bottom.

" _I am friends with Scorpius Malfoy._ " Ron choked on his orange juice. " _He is in my dormitory and he seems very nice. Please tell Uncle Ron_ …" Ginny's lips twitched with amusement as her eyes slid over the last few words. " _Please tell Uncle Ron and Grandad that I won't marry him or anything, but that I still want to be his friend because he is cool."_

"Urgh, I was so worried about Rosie being friends with him!" Ron sighed, as Harry chuckled and Ginny handed the letter to Hermione for her to read properly. "I didn't even think to warn Al!"

"Yes, well." Ginny dumped a bowl of chopped fruit on the table and looked sternly over at her brother. "He obviously heard what you said to her at the station on Friday anyway, and from the looks of this letter he wasn't sure about telling us at all. He must secretly be dead worried about what we will say – this is Albus, after all. So you are to be _nice_ about it!"

"OK! Chill out!"

Harry brought the pan of bacon over and sat down too, his eyes on Hermione, who was rereading the letter looking worried.

"He sounds nothing like his father," he said quietly. "And Draco isn't even really like _his_ father anymore, from what I hear! I know you don't exactly have good memories of the Malfoys, but-"

"Oh, I'm not worried about _that_!" Hermione exclaimed, waving the letter dismissively. "I think it's wonderful that he and Albus are friends! And how many times have we had proof over the years that kids don't always turn out like their parents? It's just…" she bit her lip, reading the last line of the letter again. "How on earth is Lucius Malfoy going to react? His grandson and only grandchild, sorted into Hufflepuff and befriending the son of an old arch enemy? I hope poor Scorpius doesn't suffer too much because of that!"

*******

Hermione, as usual, had seen right through to the heart of the issue.

Draco Malfoy paced the kitchen nervously, as his wife started making the preparations to receive her parents-in-law for Sunday lunch. Their son's letter, which had been delivered an hour before, still lay on the table. Astoria looked over at her husband as she set some vegetables peeling and slicing with a flick of her wand.

"It's not such a bad thing, really, Draco," she said. Her voice was gentle. "I think he'd have struggled in Slytherin, to be honest, and remember all that horrible animosity we had at school with the other houses. They say it's a bit different nowadays, but even so. We want him to be happy, don't we?"

"I know, I know!" Draco ran a hand through his receding hair. "I agree, it's probably for the best. And of course I would prefer him to be happy where he is, rather than miserable where we would have liked him to be. I'm just worried about…"

"Your father?" Astoria supplied.

He nodded.

"Maybe we can tell your mother first?" she suggested. "Then she can advise on how to break it to him."

But this plan, while a good idea, did not work out at all.

"So how is my grandson settling into Hogwarts?" Lucius enquired, just minutes after their arrival, as they sat down at the polished kitchen table with some drinks. Without waiting for a response, he pressed on.

"You know Draco, I think it would be a good idea to give a little contribution to the Slytherin quidditch team, like I did for you back in your second year. A few new brooms and some training equipment, and Scorpius might be very welcome among them, even as a first year."

"Father, I don't think-"

"I know you think it isn't one for quidditch," Lucius interrupted, with an edge of contempt to his voice. "But he has never really tried, has he? A few good, hard practice sessions would do him a world of good, and he could at least be a reserve for now, with a chance at a permanent spot in a year or two!"

"It's - It's not that, Father… It's…" Draco looked over at his wife, and she nodded at him encouragingly. He took a deep breath.

"Scorpius isn't in Slytherin house."

A dead silence fell over the kitchen. Astoria watched nervously from the corner. Draco's face was pale. Narcissa looked surprised, and if Astoria didn't know better she might even have said relieved, but the same could not be said for Lucius. His nostrils were flaring.

"Excuse me?"

"Scorpius isn't in Slytherin," Draco repeated. "We got a letter from him this morning, telling us."

Lucius's cold grey eyes bore into him. He had always been so afraid of that glacial stare. But he tried to gaze right back.

Narcissa was the one to break the icy silence.

"Well, you could still make a contribution to his quidditch team, couldn't you?" she suggested. She looked nervous too, but her voice was steady as she did her best to smooth over the waters. "After all, they all would appreciate some new equipment, I'm sure."

Lucius Malfoy looked like he had just swallowed a spoonful of vinegar, but he collected himself nonetheless.

"Very well," he said curtly. "That will be Ravenclaw then, I suppose? I guess being a Smart Alec isn't the worst thing in the world…I've known a few fine Ravenclaws in my time, after all."

Draco tensed even further. He managed to hold his father's gaze, but Lucius was narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

"Surely not?" he breathed. " _My_ grandson, a Gryffindor? With the Potters and the Weasleys and the blasted _Longbottoms_? My grandson, going through his school years surrounded by a mob of rowdy, undignified, little blood-traitor brats?"

Draco couldn't help it. He lowered his eyes to the floor.

"I do not believe this," Lucius hissed. "A Gryffindor? How can this possibly-"

"He's not in Gryffindor either!" Draco forced himself to look up again, cutting over his father. He had to be strong about this, if only for his son's sake. He spoke again before Lucius could make the mental calculation of what this meant.

"He's not in Gryffindor. He's in Hufflepuff."

If the silence before had seemed intense, it was nothing to what it was now. Lucius had never looked more terrifying to Draco as he did in that moment.

"Is this your idea of a joke?" he whispered.

"N - No. It's the truth."

"You are telling me…That your son. My grandson. The one and only heir to the name of Malfoy, is in _Hufflepuff_? The house of morons and mudbloods and _freaks_?"

"Father-"

"I won't have it," Lucius spat. "I won't Draco. I am going to write. They will change his house right away and put him in Slytherin, where he belongs."

"Lucius, you know it doesn't work like that-" Narcissa started.

"Well, in this case it will have to work like that. They will need to make an exception. Come on Narcissa, we are leaving!"

"Father-"

"We are leaving!"

Narcissa looked worriedly round at them both as she tried to call her husband back, but he had already marched outside.

"I'll have a word with him, Draco. He'll calm down, I'm sure!"

But Draco was not convinced as he sighed and buried his face in his hands. His wife came over and put an arm round his shoulders.

*******

All in all, Scorpius was thoroughly enjoying his second day.

He and Albus had made it down to breakfast much earlier than the day before to make sure there were plenty of bacon sandwiches left. They had then enjoyed an energetic game of dodgeball in the grounds, which had started with just a few of their fellow Hufflepuffs and ended up including about fifty people from all years across the four houses. The game had finally been brought to an abrupt halt when James Potter's overenthusiastic throw burst open Rose Weasley's lip, covering her face, the ball and the ground in front of her with blood. Looking unusually shame-faced, James had rushed his cousin off to the hospital wing and everyone else had decided that this was probably their cue to go in for lunch.

Just after lunch, while they were slumped in a sunny spot of the courtyard digesting another hearty meal, Albus's tiny owl appeared, bearing a letter and a small package.

"It's from Mum and Dad!" he said excitedly, tearing open the envelope. He scanned the letter.

"They say they are looking forward to meeting you in the holidays some time!" he informed Scorpius. "And Mum's baked us some brownies."

The brownies were particularly delicious, even on top of their copious lunch, but they could not quite alleviate the heavy little weight that had just materialised in Scorpius's chest. He had not heard back from his own parents at all.

"Do you want to come down to Hagrid's with me later?" Albus asked, seeing his face. "Mum and Dad warned me not to actually eat the food he makes, but Hagrid's great and it will be fun."

Scorpius felt more than a little apprehensive about this, but when they arrived at his hut, Hagrid just greeted them both warmly and his giant wolfhound, Barnaby, bounded up to them and licked their faces.

"Malfoy eh?" he said, at Albus's introduction, looking at Scorpius's blond head. "You'll be Draco Malfoy's son, I suppose?"

Scorpius merely nodded in reply, looking even more tense, but Hagrid's beard just twitched and he grunted. "Well, just remember never to insult a hippogriff. Your father ended up learning that the hard way!"

Scorpius relaxed after that, and they spent an animated few hours at Hagrid's discussing everything that their first proper week of school might have in store for them. Finally, when it was getting dark, Hagrid escorted them back to the great hall for dinner.

Yes, a very enjoyable Sunday indeed, Scorpius thought, as he climbed into bed, completely exhausted from the days' activities, and stuffed full of roast beef and apple crumble. But there was still an ache in his chest as he thought of the lack of reply to his letter. Perhaps he would hear in the morning.

*******

"I think we can salvage the situation." It was dark and very late when Lucius Malfoy reappeared at their door and marched over the threshold, holding a scroll of parchment. Narcissa, looking weary, stepped in after him.

"I've written a letter, addressed to the Headmistress and all twelve governors. Reminding them of the position I once held at Hogwarts, the generations of Malfoys that have been in Slytherin and what they have contributed to the school over the years. I have been most cordial while asking them to consider an exceptional change in house for Scorpius, and I'm sure my request will be granted."

"Father!" After many hours of intense discussion with his wife that afternoon, Draco was more determined than ever not to back down at this point. "We are not moving Scorpius, not even trying to. He will be fine where he is."

"If they refuse," Lucius continued, disregarding Draco completely, "then we will remove him from the school altogether. I am sure I can pull a few strings at Durmstrang and get him in there."

Astoria's face drained of blood. Draco's eyes were flinty as he stood up and squared himself up to his father.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I said no. No to the letter. No to the change of house. No to the change of school."

Lucius just looked coldly back at him.

"Draco, I will not permit you to let your son disgrace our family, dishonour the very name of Malfoy. And this is for his own good just as much as ours. Just ask your mother. Her own sister disgraced her family name – by associating with a Hufflepuff mudblood, no less – and where did that leave her in the end? Widowed. Childless. Alone."

Narcissa went as pale as Astoria, but Draco's cheeks, in contrast, had suddenly flared with colour.

"And who was to blame for that?" he hissed. "Don't try and twist this around, just to manipulate me into doing things your way. I was there too, all those years ago, remember? I know the truth just as well as you do. I know what those people did. What the Dark Lord did. What so many Slytherins did. What our own family did."

He looked quite sick.

"I've never told Scorpius, you know," he went on jerkily. His hand had strayed unconsciously to his arm. "I have never been able to tell him what we were. What we did. I could never bear to see the look on his face on finding out what his father once was. And now," he glared at his father. "Now that it's come down to it, I would rather a hundred times that he be in Hufflepuff, if that is where he belongs, than follow the path we took. And if that makes him a disgrace in your eyes then so be it. What good did that path do _us_ in the end?"

"Draco." Lucius's eyes were ablaze, but his mouth was curled in a lazy smile all the same. "Be reasonable. You don't have a say in this. I will send this letter, whether you like it or not, and the matter will be taken out of your hands."

A white-hot flame seemed to lick Draco's insides. Moving so quickly that even Lucius didn't see it coming, he snatched the scroll of parchment. Both his expression and the quick movement startled his father, and the sneering mask slipped from his face, replaced, just for an instant, with slight shock and… could it be fear? For the first time in his life, Draco didn't feel afraid of the man standing in front of him.

"Don't have a say?" he snarled. "Scorpius is _our_ son, not yours. _We_ will decide what is best for him, not you."

Draco rolled open the letter and scanned it briefly. Then, looking almost calm, he touched the corner of the parchment with the tip of his wand. It ignited.

"I've said no." The reflection of the flame flickered in his pale eyes as the letter went black and curled into ash. "And that is the end of it. And I think you'll find, _Father_ , that you are the one who doesn't have a say. We could stop you from seeing him altogether, you know, if we wanted. The current magical laws in child protection don't tend to work in the favour of two-time Death Eaters and ex-Azkaban prisoners. Hermione Weasley has seen to that."

Lucius's head jerked in shock. Narcissa took a very shaky intake of breath from her position over in the corner. Astoria looked as though she was about to burst into tears.

But Draco knew the battle was won.

The door slammed shut behind his father, just a few seconds later.

*******

The parcel came so late on Monday morning that Scorpius almost missed it. He and Albus were full of sausages and eggs, consulting their timetables and just about to leave for double Charms, when Albus nudged and pointed. An owl had landed on the breakfast table just a few feet away, and they could make out the name written on the package it was carrying.

Scorpius tore open the envelope and read the letter. Then, looking happy, if a little surprised, he shoved it towards Albus for him to read.

_Dear Scorpius,_

_We are so sorry that we didn't write back yesterday. It was a very busy day that we will tell you all about when we next see you._

_You are right, it is a bit of a surprise that you are in Hufflepuff, but as long as you are happy that is the only thing that matters. None of our family ever had a chance to see what the other houses were like, and we look forward to hearing all about it._

_Do write back and tell us more about your first few days._

_With love,_

_Your Mother and Father_

"That's great!" Albus said. "Told you they would be ok with it! What's in the package?"

Scorpius tore off the paper, a proper smile splitting his face as he saw what it contained.

Inside, nestled in the brown wrapping, was a black and yellow scarf embroidered with a little golden badger.

*******

Narcissa Malfoy agonised over the piece of parchment in front of her. She had been doing this for the last hour.

Downstairs, her husband was storming around, still smarting from the argument the day before. But she couldn't spare him the headspace at the moment. He would calm down eventually.

Currently, all that was written on the piece of parchment was _Dear Andromeda._

Was she really about to do this? After all these years? They were not enemies anymore it was true, but was this taking it a step too far?

Part of her was so afraid to, and yet…

Relief had flooded her when Draco had broken the news to them the day before. Relief that her gentle, kind, docile grandson might avoid some of the harsh consequences that came with being a Slytherin pupil, ramifications that Narcissa could remember only too well from her own school days. Yes, everyone said that times had changed, and that all the houses were equal now, but Narcissa was unconvinced. The rivalry may be less acrimonious, but the fact remained the Muggle-borns almost never got sorted into Slytherin and that blood purists still existed in all corners of the country. And Narcissa knew exactly where most of their offspring ended up when they got to Hogwarts.

So, when she had heard that Scorpius was in _Hufflepuff_ , the house known for being the friendliest and most accepting, she had felt a great weight lifted from her chest, one that she hadn't even realised was there. And later on, to that relief had been added something else. The knowledge that, after years of thinking that the time had long passed, this might be the thread of reconciliation she had always longed for.

But writing the letter was proving harder than she had thought.

Narcissa put down the quill in despair. She couldn't do this.

Then, in her mind's eye, she saw a young blond boy of eleven, an anxious expression creasing his little pointed face, so unlike Draco's had been at that age, despite the striking resemblance in features and colouring. The boy fiddled nervously with the strands of fabric on his black and yellow scarf.

Slowly, Narcissa picked up her quill again, and finally began to write.

*******

The Hogwarts Express made its way back through the snow-covered fields and mountains, the large blankets of white eventually getting more and more sparse until they faded altogether and the colours turned green and brown.

Albus and Scorpius had managed to find a carriage to themselves and were very much enjoying working their way through a big bag of Christmas sweets that they had been saving for the journey.

"What's your family Christmas like?" Scorpius asked Albus. He grinned.

"Very busy! We always have dinner as a family on Christmas day, just the five of us, and then we do presents in the evening. Then on Boxing day we all meet up and have loads of leftover food and play games and stuff, all my aunts and uncles and cousins and my grandparents. And we normally have a get together just after New Year before everyone goes back to school as well. It gets a bit crazy but it's always fun. Although this year won't be quite as busy as normal because Uncle Charlie and Alex have to stay in Romania, and Uncle Bill and all them will be in France with Aunt Fleur's family.

"What about you?" Albus added, chewing a toffee.

Scorpius shrugged. "I don't like Christmas so much. It's really boring and formal. We normally go round to my grandparents' house and have a fancy meal. I have to sit at the table and not say anything unless I'm spoken to. I don't mind it so much once we're back home in the evening, but we normally stay there for ages and ages!"

"What about decorating the Christmas tree?" Albus asked. "That's my favourite part! I think we're going to do it this weekend. Mum lets us each get a new decoration, every year, and then we have loads of other baubles and lights and stuff, and we each take it in turns putting stuff on until it's completely full."

Scorpius gave a small smile and shrugged.

"Mother and Father have lots of Christmas trees, but they just have plain silver decorations and they put them all up by magic. They'll already be up when I get home."

Albus looked extremely sad at this. "Maybe you could come to our house and do our tree with us. My parents wouldn't mind!"

"I'm not sure my family would like that."

"Right." Albus nodded. Scorpius had already told him that although his parents knew they were in the same house, he had not told them that they were good friends. Albus wasn't sure he fully understood what the problem was, but his mum had told him many times that every family was different, and that he must accept that some people didn't do things the same way that they did.

Ginny was standing waiting for them, as they got off the train. She greeted both boys warmly as Albus gave her a hug and introduced her to his friend. Looking into her pretty, kindly face, Scorpius couldn't help wishing that he _could_ go round to Albus's house and join in with their Christmas fun. He was more than a little nervous about being reunited with his own family, even though his parents' letters over the last few months had been nothing but positive and encouraging.

"Can you see your family anywhere?" Albus asked. Scorpius squinted around.

"Yes!" He said suddenly. "There's Mother and Father coming just over there. And wow! Grandmother is here too! I don't know who that is they're talking to, though."

Albus turned to look. The group consisted of a blond-haired man and a very similar looking older woman, a dark-haired lady with a gentle face, and a young man… with bright turquoise hair.

"But that's Teddy!" Albus exclaimed anxiously. "Oh no! He must think Victoire is on the train, and she's already gone to France for the holidays."

He went sprinting over. Scorpius followed, but more slowly.

"Teddy!" Albus burst out as soon as he reached the group. "What are you doing here? Victoire's in France this year, with her Nana and Papa!"

"Yes, I know that!" Teddy smiled, giving his younger friend a hug. "I'm going out there myself in a couple of days!"

"So why are you here then?"

"You came to see us, didn't you?" James had materialised from nowhere and was looking excitedly at Teddy. "Because you missed us! Didn't you miss us?"

"Of course I missed you!" Teddy assured him. "And-"

"Why were you talking to Scorpius's family?" James interrupted.

"James!" Ginny had caught up with them now as well. "Don't be so rude!"

"But I only asked why he was speaking to them!"

"James-"

"But I'm just _asking_ … why _-_ "

"Well," Teddy began patiently. Sometimes the simple truth was the best way to shut James Potter up. He looked round at the other adults as if looking for confirmation of something. Narcissa gave a small nod in return, and Teddy continued: "I'm actually here because… it turns out that Scorpius is my cousin."

Albus looked round at Scorpius in sudden excitement. James, however, looked positively outraged.

"No he isn't! Scorpius isn't your cousin! _I'm_ not even your cousin!"

"James!" Ginny's voice was suddenly very sharp. "Go back there and say hello to Ron and Hermione, please. They're giving us a lift home."

"But-"

" _Now_."

James made a grumpy noise in his throat and sloped off towards his aunt and uncle, scowling and muttering.

"You too Al, come on!"

Ginny gave a courteous nod and a small smile towards the Malfoys, which was returned by all three of them.

Albus looked uncertainly at Scorpius as his mother began to walk away. He nearly said something about writing him a letter over the holidays, and then he remembered that Scorpius's family weren't supposed to know that they were friends.

"Ok, bye!" he said simply.

"Bye! Um…But… Wait… Um…" Scorpius took a deep breath, then turned to his family. "Mother, Father, Grandmother. This is Albus. He's - He's my best friend."

There was an infinitesimal pause, before Astoria Malfoy, her face becoming even prettier as it split with a broad smile, held out her hand.

"It's very nice to meet you, Albus."

With similar gestures of their own, Narcissa and Draco shook hands with Albus too. Scorpius saw the oddest of expressions flit over his father's face as he looked into his friend's serious green eyes and their hands met, but it was not an unpleasant one.

Teddy just winked as Albus turned to him. "I'll see you before I go to France, Al-Pal, don't worry. I'm coming round for dinner tomorrow."

"Oh good! See you tomorrow. Bye Scorpius. Have a good Christmas."

"What's going on?" Scorpius said slowly, once he had said goodbye in return, and Albus had caught up with the rest of his family to exit the platform. "Why are you all here? Is Grandfather here too?"

Narcissa continued to smile, if a little tightly. "We thought it would be nice to come and meet you after your first term. Your grandfather… couldn't make it today," she added. "But you will see him on Christmas day."

"Ok."

Scorpius could only feel relief that Lucius Malfoy was not there. He was now looking at Teddy in confusion, processing the latest bit of new information that had almost been lost in a flurry of introductions and goodbyes. "I didn't think I had any cousins," he said at last.

"Well, second cousin, I should really say," Teddy clarified.

"Teddy's grandmother is my sister," Narcissa broke in. "She is your great aunt, and when we heard about your sorting, I wrote to her to tell her, to ask if she would like to meet you. Her husband was in Hufflepuff, and so was her daughter, and so was Teddy, of course." Scorpius's mouth was an O shape as the pieces of the puzzle started to slot into place.

"Unfortunately, Gran couldn't make it today," Teddy went on. "But she's going to try and arrange to see you over the holidays. And as I'll be away, I thought it would be nice if I could meet you now."

Scorpius was struggling to process.

"But- but you're Teddy!" he said. "Al talks about you all the time. You're Harry Potter's godson and you were Head Boy. And… you're my _cousin_? Second cousin I mean," he amended.

Astoria spoke again. "Listen, Scorpius, we have some last-minute shopping to do in Diagon Alley. Teddy wondered if you would like to go for some hot chocolate or a milkshake with him, rather than trailing round the shops with us. So you can get to know each other a little bit."

"Only if you want to, of course!" Teddy said, watching Scorpius intently.

Scorpius was already nodding, a hesitant but delighted smile breaking over his normally anxious little face.

And so, twenty minutes later, as Draco and Astoria went off to Flourish and Blotts, two figures could be seen settling themselves down on a window seat in _Moon's Marvellous Milkshake Parlour_ , each holding a large, brightly coloured glass topped with cream and chocolate shavings.

Narcissa smiled to herself as she looked back over her shoulder on her way to Abercrombie's Apothecary. She thought back to a similar winter's day, twenty-six years ago now, when Draco had come home from his first term at Hogwarts and spent his evening venting loudly about Harry Potter, the boy he despised in every possible way. She thought back to a bright summer's day, even further back in time, when her favourite sister Andromeda had looked her family boldly in the face and told them she would be leaving home to go and live with the son of the local Muggle farmer and that there was absolutely nothing they could do about it.

Narcissa knew that these events and all that had followed would likely always be there to haunt them, as much as everyone tried to pretend otherwise as the years wore on. But today, on this cold, crisp evening, she couldn't help but feel optimistic. The wounds had healed and the scars would continue to fade, and perhaps, for the people who had no memory of what had caused them in the first place, such bitter and long standing animosities would remain nothing more than a story, a reminder of the terrible price that had once been paid, and a warning to prevent it from happening again.


	7. Twenty-Two Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter. Thanks for reading!

* * *

**Twenty-Two Years Later**

_"Take care, big D"_

* * *

The London street was crowded, as was to be expected at the start of December, and yet there seemed to be something missing, a lack of the habitual bustle and high spirits, a distinct air of gloom descending over the shops, as retailers knew their worst Christmas season to date.

Ginny Potter, walking beside her husband as they approached the shop they were looking for, remarked on this.

"It doesn't seem that busy," she mused. "The way the Grangers were talking, when I was round at Ron's the other day, you'd have thought I'd said we were going to wrestle dragons when I mentioned we'd be going to the muggle high street this weekend, but it doesn't seem that bad at all."

"The muggles aren't having a great time of it, by the sounds of it," Harry said heavily. He did not really follow the muggle news in depth, but as newly appointed Head of the Auror department, he was expected to know the main events going on in the muggle world. He also occasionally indulged Hermione with a political debate. She regularly read the newspapers that her parents brought over for her, and loudly expressed her frustration that Ron was not in the slightest bit interested in discussing the happenings in the non-magical world.

"Big financial crisis, huge tensions with the rest of Europe," Harry went on, "and their Prime Minister would rival Cornelius Fudge for self-absorption and putting himself and his office before the people. I think Christmas is a bit low on people's priorities for once. Plus, most muggles do their shopping online now, Hermione said."

"Well, that's a bonus for us at least," Ginny said, as they walked in the door of the shop. "Easier to find what we want and then get out again."

They were on their yearly trip to buy Arthur Weasley a Christmas present. It had become a tradition, a few years previously, and Arthur now had such a big collection of electrical and practical muggle gadgets that Molly was going spare. But Arthur never tired of receiving them, and Harry and Ginny, in turn, never tired of watching his delight as he tore the wrapping off items such as a pocket calculator, an mp3 player, or a travel kettle. This year, Harry had decided to take it a step further and get Mr Weasley a smart phone, although he had to confess that he himself was now so out of touch with muggle developments in technology that he wasn't entirely sure he would be able to work it himself.

They entered the electrical shop and Harry made his way up an aisle towards the more basic phones. This shop was the most crowded they had encountered so far. No doubt electrical gadgets were high on people's Christmas wish lists.

Harry made to squeeze past a burly man who was examining the latest Iphone model, but the man stepped back suddenly, and Harry found himself unable to get out of the way in time.

"Oh sorry!" the man exclaimed, turning round in surprise. Harry looked him with a smile to wave away the apology, and the words died in his throat. For standing in front of him, dressed in a garish Christmas jumper sporting a reindeer with a large red pompom nose, was none other than Dudley Dursley.

"Harry!" he blustered. "Wow, err... long time no see!" He held out his hand, and Harry took it, remembering, with a jolt, the last time he had seen his cousin, twenty-two years ago now, and how he had surprised him then with a very similar handshake and a cordial – even pleasant - goodbye.

Truth be told, he had never expected to see his cousin again. He had heard from Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones that his aunt, uncle and cousin had moved back to Surrey after the war and settled back into Privet Drive. No doubt his aunt and uncle would have sold the neighbours an impressive story about a last-minute business trip and Harry had imagined them carrying on with their suburban, home counties lifestyle as though there had been no interruption.

Harry had, very briefly, considered making contact with them, during the post war flurry of activity in which forging, building and rebuilding relationships had been so crucial to his daily life. But he had decided against it. There was no love lost between him and the Dursleys, and he highly doubted that their attitude towards him would have thawed after having to spend months in hiding all because of him. He had had far too much to worry about in the years that followed, and so he had left it.

But he would have been lying to say that he had never thought of them. In fact, he wondered about Dudley most of all, how he was doing, what he had become. And here, it seemed, may be a chance to find out the answers, all these years later.

"This is my wife, Ginny," Harry said, gesturing behind him. "You err... met her dad and a few of her brothers briefly... back in Privet Drive."

Dudley gave an uncomfortable but not unfriendly smile, glancing at her red hair, as he shook Ginny's hand as well. "They would be the ones who blasted the living room apart through the fireplace, I suppose," he said, and Harry was sure, unless his ears were deceiving him, that there was a note of amusement in his voice. Ginny's mouth twitched as she nodded.

"And I've never forgotten that sweet they dropped." Dudley went on. "Put me off toffees for life, you know!" Ginny continued to smile back, but it was now slightly fixed and forced, and Harry decided to steer the conversation in a different direction. More than twenty years on from the battle of Hogwarts, any reminder of Fred and George as a pair was still painful, and he didn't want to have to make the situation more awkward than it already was.

"So how have you been?" he said to Dudley.

"Yeah, not bad," Dudley said, running his hand through his hair, still blond, but thinning now and with a few strands of grey. "Living in Guildford, so not far from Privet Drive, and pretty close to London. Married a few years ago. Got a son now - Simon. He'll be five next month."

He trailed off, clearly casting around for what to say next and still looking embarrassed. Harry understood. How were you supposed to catch up on twenty-two missed years, in a shabby electrical store, with a cousin you previously hated and had never expected to see or hear from again?

He was, however, keen to ask a few more questions while he had the chance, but as he opened his mouth to do so they were interrupted by the arrival of a women, looking slightly harassed and holding the hand of a small, skinny, brown-haired boy. The boy was clearly suffering with a cold. His nose was red, his eyes watering and he was sniffing dolefully.

"Duds, I think I'll just wait until the sales you know. And I really think we should just get Simon home, he -" the woman who had been speaking broke off, looking enquiringly at Dudley's company, and Harry surveyed her with silent interest.

He had never known Dudley to have a girlfriend during their youth. Admittedly, romantic interests had hardly been a hot topic of conversation between the two of them, but as Dudley had attended an all-boys school and spent every summer with his all-male gang, going round the neighbourhood terrorizing younger children, Harry didn't think that romance had been at the top of his agenda anyway.

It was interesting therefore, to see the woman who Dudley had chosen as his life partner. She had shoulder length curly brown hair and a friendly, pretty face. She did, however, look like the sort of person who may be quite formidable if you got on her bad side. There was a firm set to her eyes and mouth.

"This is Liz," Dudley said, putting an arm around his wife's shoulders. "And our son, Simon. Liz, this is Harry. We... err... went to school together."

Harry managed to hide his double take as he shook Liz's hand and introduced Ginny in turn. What Dudley had said was, after all, perfectly true. They had indeed gone to school together until Harry had attended Hogwarts, although the experience had been far from pleasant. But Dudley was looking distinctly uncomfortable and from this Harry gathered that he had never mentioned his cousin to his wife.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then Simon started sniffling into his scrunched-up tissue. "We'd better let you get on," said Ginny, looking at him sympathetically. "He looks like he needs to be home and warm!"

Liz smiled at her gratefully, and she and Dudley made to leave, but as they did so Dudley turned back round clumsily and thrust a business card towards Harry. "Good to see you," he muttered. "Maybe see you around sometime."

And then he was gone.

Harry stared after them for a moment, an odd emotion in his chest, and then looked down at the business card in his hand.

It was not surprising to him that Dudley was now a senior consultant at a large IT company, but he couldn't help feeling the tiniest bit of disappointment. Why that was, he wasn't sure. Perhaps some part of him had hoped that Dudley would become a fortune teller, or a children's magician. Smiling to himself at the mental image of Dudley pulling a rabbit out of a top hat, while Uncle Vernon ground his teeth in the background, Harry pocketed the card carefully, and he and Ginny did, at last, make their way to the back of the shop to look at the basic smart phones.

Harry was very quiet for the rest of their shopping trip. Ginny did not press him as they picked out a cheap smart phone for Mr Weasley, requested a detailed instruction manual from the salesman under the (truthful) pretence of it being for an older relative who had never used one before, and made their way back down the high street.

On their way out of town, however, Harry, making a sudden decision, went into a small independent card shop and picked out a Christmas card with a painting of a reindeer on it.

Once at home, he sat up in the study, pulled out a quill, and then stopped. What on earth was he supposed to write? Dudley had seemed friendly enough in the shop, certainly, but was Harry really about to send him a Christmas card?

In the end, he kept it simple.

_Hi Dudley,_

_Was good to see you the other day._

_Wishing you and your family a very Merry Christmas._

_All the best,_

_Harry_

He wrote out the envelope to the address on the back of the business card, and put a small return address stamp on the back of the envelope, charming it so that it would only be visible to Dudley, just in case he should ever want to get in touch.

***

Christmas came and went in its usual chaos of Potter-Weasley activity, and Harry had almost forgotten about his meeting with Dudley, when, just two days before the kids were due to return to Hogwarts, and as Ginny and Harry were making preparations to host their usual kick-away-the-January-blues family dinner party, a letter arrived for him.

Harry shut himself away in his study to read it.

_Harry,_

_Sorry it's taken me a while to reply, but this letter has been pretty hard to write._

Harry's mouth fell open in surprise as his eyes scanned the long lines of the letter. This was more communication than he'd had with his cousin in sixteen years of living with him (Harry was not counting insults and punches to the stomach). He was also surprised and somewhat touched to see that it was handwritten. He had no doubt that Dudley would be well up to date with technological gadgets and could have quite easily typed out the letter on his computer, yet here it was, painstakingly written out by hand, with many crossings out and amendments, all four pages of it.

He sat back in his chair and began to read.

_Harry (it read again),_

_Thank you for the card. Good to see you before Christmas, even if it was a bit awkward. It's kind of hard to know what to say after all this time, you know._ _But I am glad I ran into you. There are a few things I would have liked to say at the time, but it's much easier to write them down… so here we go…_

_I owe you an apology. Well, a few actually._

_Firstly, I want to apologise for not being completely truthful about how we know each other in front of Liz. The thing is, she doesn't know I have a cousin. She thinks Mum's an only child, because of course that's the impression she gives, and I never really knew how to bring up the subject. Liz is extremely close to all her family, you see, and I don't think she would understand - the idea of having a relative I hadn't spoken to or even mentioned during the fifteen years I've known her would have raised a lot of questions. I wouldn't really have known how to explain it, not without downright lying or going into details about you… and the situation is_ _so complicated anyway._

_I thought that she either would have found it too hard to take in or thought that I had completely lost my mind. I hope you understand. But I'd like you to know that I'm honestly not like how I was before, and my attitude to your world is not like Mum and Dad's anymore, not after spending the time we did with your people after we left Privet Drive. Dedalus and Hestia were so good to us during those months. After they had taken us to the safe house and settled us in, they could easily have washed their hands with us and not bothered with us at all, but they came back every few weeks, to check in on how we were doing and see if we needed any help._

_Dad's rudeness would just bounce of Dedalus like water off a duck's back, and he would cheerfully invite himself in for tea and come and sit and chat to us. Dad hated every moment, of course, and he and Mum would go into a different room and refuse to engage with them, but I couldn't help liking them in the end. They told me a lot about you Harry, your part in the war, everything that happened between you and that dark wizard. They told me how you ended it all too, when it was all over and they came to settle us back in. And they also told me some of what happened while you were away at school. And it made me feel ashamed, because I just never realised everything that you had to go through._

_Which brings me to my second apology, which I hope you will accept, because I really do feel bad about how I treated you, at school and then all those summer holidays. I'm not saying that if I had known the details at the time it would have changed anything - I know I was a total arse. Which is why - as messed up as it seems to say this - I'm really grateful that I encountered that dementer thing (more grateful, of course, that you saved my life before any lasting damage was done)._

_That night changed my life. It was like looking at myself through someone else eyes, and properly seeing and suffering from the horrible things I had done to people over the years. It was sickening and depressing, but I truly did learn from it, and I think I am a better person because of it. I have been very careful with raising Simon, what I teach him, insisting that he treats other children only as he would want to be treated himself, because the thought of other people seeing him like they must have seen me, or worse, having to see himself as I saw myself that night, is pretty awful._

_I know we are completely different, have different lives and worlds, and I'm not going to pretend I could ever properly understand yours. And after everything that happened, I'd completely understand if you weren't bothered about hearing from me again. But I wanted to write this letter, to let you know that I honestly have regrets about my behaviour in the past, and that I do think of you sometimes._

_It would be good to hear from you occasionally Harry, but if I don't then I wish you and your family all the best for the future._

_Take Care._

_Dudley_

Harry read the letter twice, very slowly, taking in every word. It was so surreal, so bizarre. That Dudley, _Dudley_ , who had barely been able to string more than a few words together all those years before, should write such a coherent, almost eloquent letter.

Of course, Harry was under no illusions about the future of his and Dudley's relationship. The letter had touched him deeply, but Dudley was right. They led different lives, and Dudley had made it pretty clear that his wife would find the sudden appearance of a long-lost cousin more than a little difficult to take. He sensed too, by the many edits and by the delay between correspondence, that a lot of awkward effort had gone into this letter, and he couldn't really imagine having a proper, flowing conversation with Dudley, face to face.

Nevertheless, Harry was feeling cheerful as he folded up the letter and put it in his drawer, making a mental note to write back soon.

***

Two hours later, the letter was still on Harry's mind as he looked contentedly round his sitting room that was buzzing with life. George was talking animatedly to James and Hugo in the corner, showing them one of his latest inventions. Ginny was laughing with Ron and their father. Teddy and Victoire were speaking with Hermione and Angelina. Children tore excitedly round the room, hyped up on sugar.

Harry smiled to himself. This was the only family he needed. Well... almost. He allowed himself a minute, just one single minute, as he always did on these occasions, to look wistfully round the room and spare a thought to those who should have been there. Fred should have been laughing along with George and the boys in the corner, and Sirius would likely have been there too, examining the Weasley products with more enthusiasm than anyone. Remus and Tonks should have been there with Teddy and Victoire. And of course, his own parents, Lily and James, should have been standing with Molly and Arthur, and their daughter-in-law and grandchildren, handing out presents and hugs and chocolate in the same way that Arthur was now.

The moment passed. Harry made sure of that. He had learnt long ago that brief moments of remembrance were good and beneficial, but that dwelling on a past that couldn't be changed or reversed was destructive and heart wrenching.

Yes, in this room stood nearly every person he loved most. The fact that his only real living relatives were out of reach had never bothered him in the past and didn't even bother him now.

And yet, there was an added warmth to his heart that day, as he thought of the letter upstairs, and the fact that not very many miles away he did, in fact, have a cousin who had reached out to him, made the first tentative step towards an amicable - albeit distant - relationship. A true, blood relative who, after nearly forty years of animosity, tension and estrangement, did, at long last, feel like something akin to…family.


End file.
